


Elvallas

by Bublinka



Series: Day and Night [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, In the Fade, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-13 22:51:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3399194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bublinka/pseuds/Bublinka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with writing a letter, a simple favor for a friend. Despite his best effort, Solas was getting more and more involved in that emotional entanglement he tried to avoid.<br/>Rating changed to M due to some Solavellan Fade activity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Lavellan asks Solas to help her write a letter in elven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Disclaimer: Bioware owns DA:I.  
> My Inqusitor Lavellan is a Dalish hunter, who praises Mythal (given her vallaslin). “ ” is speech, ‘ ’ is thoughts.

"Aneth ara, Sarel, aneth ara, ma lethallin!  
Dareth na'an sahlin. Abelas, ir abelas, tel'garas. Da'mien ma vhenan in, ma numin melava su. Melava halani, Mythal'enaste. Dar nan'din, emma elenasalin. Ar belelvarel nadas, ar tu elrevas nadas. Arlathshemvhen halam, elgar'harel ma vir ena. Ar tu then, ma falon.  
Tel'him, souveri shiral ven. Dirth ma na invhenan, lethallin? Sa'vunin elinan,dar nehn'vunin, arla tu u'din. Ma'adahlen tu ena.  
Ar lath ma, lethallin. Dareth shiral, ma lethallin.  
Ellana."  
Inqusitor Lavellan finished reading and sighed wearily. This was the longest text she ever wrote in elven, a letter, a letter home, to her older brother. She spent more than half an hour, mumbling the words under her breath, trying to figure out how to write them down. Writing wasn't her strong side.  
She probably got it all wrong. Would her family think her disrespectful to write them with mistakes? Would they even understand her meaning? She needed to have it corrected. And only one man in Skyhold could help her. Solas.

Lavellan opened the door to the rotunda without knocking, as always. She saw the other elf hunched over a shard on his table, some small magic at his fingers. He touched, studied, probed; he didn't even notice her enter.  
"Good day to you, Solas," she began politely," can you help me with something?"  
"Inquisitor." Solas straightened himself and greeted her with the tiniest graceful nod of his head. "I will try." Ever so careful about his promises, his words, his deeds.  
A delicate movement of his wrist and the shard magic was gone. He had called her graceful, but how could she ever match him?  
Her eyes returned to his face and his attentive, expecting expression, eyes slightly narrowed, urged her to explain the matter.  
"My clan was attacked by bandits. Our soldiers helped, but..." His obvious lack of reaction constrained her from elaborating further. "I want to write a letter home, at least partly in elven." This, she had to explain. "So that they know I'm still one of them, that I'm still Dalish, not the human Inquisitor. That I still remember, that I haven't left them."  
The choice of her words intrigued him. Did they have more than ear shape in common? Yet, he hesitated.  
"Letters to family are very personal things. I'm not sure I can do it for you, Inquisitor." Solas eyed her as calm and collected as ever.  
Ellana widened her eyes at his open refusal. That was unexpected of him. Or maybe he just got her wrong?  
"You do not have to write it for me, Solas!" She exclaimed. "I've got it here," Ellana unfolded a paper she held, ink stained and crumpled from her fumbling. "I only ask you to correct the spelling and such..." she trailed off, coming nearer to him and stretching out a hand with the paper. Inquisitor looked at the older elf with hope, seeing his resolve weaken as he took the document slowly. Still, he didn't even look at the text.  
"Are you sure you want me to read it? It seems hardly appropriate," he voiced his doubts. He was not sure whether he was really concerned about her privacy or didn't want to involve himself more than needed. The situation was not the one he could've foreseen.  
"Please, Solas! I can't be seen by my clan as an ignorant girl, that wasn't taught to write! I'm the Inquisitor now!" Lavellan pleaded heartily.  
The elven mage sat down in his chair, finally giving in. He felt the smallest of smiles tug at the corners of his mouth, the one smile she had no means seeing. A minute ago she was telling the opposite! Such quick temper, so quick to despair, so quick to hope, so quick to believe, so quick to trust... _'Da'shemasha, elshemasha, ma'shemasha....'_ Solas forced himself to stop that trail of thought.  
"You will always be da'len to you family, Inquisitor." He said while taking his pencil and beginning to correct the words before him. Lavellan put her chin at the top of his chair watching his slender fingers write perfectly shaped letters above her crossed ones. He was a master at the art of vallas.  
"And should not they be responsible for your education?" Solas continued teasingly.  
"Well, they taught me. I wasn't very eager to learn then..." Ellana mused softly.  
Her confession only proved his fears. _'Mala nuvenin, mala dirth'isala. Ar tu ma bel'him.'_  
"I believe it is done, Inquisitor." Solas got up and faced her half-sitting on the edge of the table. "Only one question - would you read this sentence? I have doubts I got the meaning." He underlined the words with his finger, while Lavellan leaned in to read them.  
"Da'mien ma vhenan in, ma numin melava su." Ellana said closing her eyes, afraid she would cry here before him. The day she learnt about the attack was still fresh in her memory.  
The tenderness of her voice nearly caught him off guard. It was long since he heard elvhen spoken with such caring, such affection, longer since by a woman.  
Solas corrected his notes putting the letter on his lap. "Here you are," he held out the paper. Inquisitor took it, put it before her eyes, and felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment. Nearly all the words were corrected. She glanced at him apologetically.  
"There is no need to be that embarrassed. You are a hunter, and I have seen you shoot." Solas offered not unkindly.  
"I'm afraid I'll do it all wrong again, there is so much to rewrite. Can I do it here so you can approve the result?" she wondered unsure. She'd already taken much of his time.  
"I consider it wise to finish what you've started." Elven mage stated. "Sit." He gestured to his chair.  
Ellana obeyed without a thought. How could he command her ever so easily, yet full of grace and right to do so? She began her work, progressing much slower than him.  
Solas watched her with the strange feeling of inner peace. He might have made her want learning, but teaching her was so enjoyable he could never imagine it. The way she tried to copy his letter shapes...was incredible.  
"Solas, please, explain me this," Ellana called and he turned his attention to her writing. "Why do you put a comma between 'ma' and 'lethallin' in 'ar lath ma lethallin', but not in 'dareth shiral ma lethallin'? Aren't the phrases similar, with the same person addressed?" she asked frowning over this part of text.  
"Because here 'ma' means 'you' and here it means 'my'." Solas replied simply.  
"How can it be? One word for both 'me' and 'you'?" Lavellan exclaimed incredulously. "Aren't ancient elves just stupid to mess with their language like that?"  
To that, Solas laughed. Heartily, like he hadn't laughed for ages. This girl amused him to no end.  
"Could you perhaps consider the thought" he answered, irony thick in his tone, mirth still lingering in his eyes," that it is Dalish who messed up the language?"  
Solas eyed Ellana attentively, glad to see her brows frown even more not in offence, but in impatience.  
"Explain me!" She demanded.  
The older elf grinned once more and obliged.  
"There were several forms of 'you' in elven language, to discriminate between people you address. 'Ma' is the form you use speaking to your close ones, as you can say you own them in a sense, and it remained in these caring phrases Dalish kept. Another form, 'na', preserved in the possessive pronoun, was used to address your betters - your master, your lord, your god."  
Ellana listened, fascinated, looking up to him, as he stood up during his small lecture.  
"So may I actually say 'Ar lath na'?" she asked, trying the new words on her tongue.  
"You may." She felt something change in his intonation, his eyes serious, him standing tall and regal above her. The embodiment of elvhen.  
"Not to me though." Solas added, his face softening, the hint of a grin on his lips teasing her.  
"Wha-? I'm not-" words didn't come easy to her, as she realized his implications, blushing again and fiercely this time. He began to laugh at her sudden helplessness, and it was so contagious she followed him in his joy.  
"You bear the wrong name, Solas. Bora'samahl, I name you," Ellana breathed happily collecting her strength after this tiring fit of laughter.  
Solas smiled softly at her words. Many things about her he hadn't long experienced. But this, this happened _never_. Never once did another elf give him praise in a name. She didn't really know him or her reasoning was clouded by the Anchor, but still. She called him a Laugh-bringer.  
"Ma serannas, lethallan," he finally answered. _'Mala u'din.'_  
The change in his way of addressing her was not lost on her.  
After a small pause he continued: "I believe your letter is perfect now." His face returned to its usual state of the calmest politeness.  
Ellana got the meaning that the conversation was over.  
"Ma serannas, Bora'samahl," she bowed slightly and left him to his studies and his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thank you for reading! Translations, if needed (don’t be too hard on my elven).  
> The letter:  
> “I greet you, Sarel, I greet you, my brother!  
> Let your place be safe now. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, that I didn’t come. Little blades were in my heart when misfortune happened with you. I helped, Mythal be blessed. Let there be no vengeance, this is our victory. I must try much longer, much harder. I must make us free. The Conclave (Arlathshemvhen, lol) ended, but an evil spirit appeared in my way. I will stay alert, my friend.  
> I’m still the same, but I’m walking the tiring way. Tell me what is in your heart, brother? One day we will meet, let this day be joyous, I won’t be alone again. My forest will appear.  
> I love you, brother. Good bye, my brother.  
> Ellana.”
> 
> Da'shemasha, elshemasha, ma'shemasha – Quick little girl, our (meaning elven) quick girl, my quick girl.  
> Mala nuvenin, mala dirth'isala. Ar tu ma bel'him. Now you want [to learn], now you are in the need of knowledge. I make you change a lot.  
> Mala u'din. – You are not alone now.
> 
> I always wondered how ‘ma’ can be both ‘you’ and ‘me’. And when Solas told Lavellan he loved her, I totally got ‘ma vhenan’ as ‘my heart’. Many languages have multiple forms of you (even English!). So I thought I could fantasize a bit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After helping the Inquisitor with her letter, Solas feels troubled. Why it is so, he tries to find out.

Having seen Inquisitor left the room, Solas sank back into his chair. All the mirth, all the lightheadedness were abandoning him, no matter how much he wanted them to stay. A second ago he couldn't imagine his current moodiness. It was a feeling like when you stood near a great campfire at night, and you were so warm, that you did not remember the night's coolness. But let yourself wander just several steps away, and the warmness only lingered on your skin a couple of seconds.  
Solas closed his eyes and let his thumb and forefinger rub over his eyelids, finally resting his fingers on the bridge of his nose. A small plaintive sigh escaped his lips. He had been right, absolutely right to refuse reading her letter. Two times he had refused her, and the third time he did not. Why? He could not provide a valid reason. That woman was always robbing him of his reasoning, twisting his expectations, and throwing him into situations he was not prepared for. Somehow, that wasn't all bad. Her constant tugging loosened his grip on himself, letting his true, guarded self get free, even if only for a fleeting moment. He couldn't say he did not enjoy it. But he couldn't say he was not frightened either.  
Solas had to continue his work. He leaned onto his elbows, eyes roaming over his desk. Books, papers, brushes, pencils, a big ancient shard... he did not have the strength to recommence his study. His idle hand grabbed a pencil and began drawing on a blank list of paper, as if by its own will.  
This was ridiculous. Why did he fret so much over that letter, a letter that looked more like a short note? It was not as if it was a well-written letter either. It surely did elven language no justice. The words were awkwardly put down together, and not once he was urged to correct her style. Yet he dared not to reveal his knowledge, fearing her inevitable questions.  
Still, her words were flowing, vibrant with life, brushing his heart with memories of emotions. Her speech was not a memory, though; it was real and tangible compared to elven he was hearing in the Fade. Inquisitor used it, made it her own, bent it to her will, constructing new words with the ease of a native speaker. _Arlathshemvhen._ The Conclave. Solas could not keep a little smile away from his face. It was not the first time he learned new words from her. Resting the back of his head on the chair, Solas let his hand slide onto his lap, stopping the drawing for a while, and spent some time remembering one rather curious dialog he had had with the Inquisitor before.  
********  
He is sitting on a log in the Inquisition camp in Hinterlands. The evening is growing late, his legs are tired, his mind filled with thoughts and his belly with ram meat. This is the closest to the bliss he can allow himself. He feels whole, and real, and...  
"Solas." Someone calls his name, the sound of it still unusual and awkward on their tongue, both syllables stressed. He feels someone sit down at his side. It is her, the Herald. Solas came to like this title. The Herald of what, he is not quite sure.  
She finally finishes moving. "Do you believe in this... _Eltu_?" She asks thoughtfully.  
He doesn't get her. "Excuse me?" Solas casts a glance at her; her back is hunched and she looks at her hands, mark glowing in the gaining darkness. He also returns his gaze to his knees.  
"I mean, this Maker?" Herald explains, struggling for a moment to remember the name. Now, this is intriguing.  
"Why do you translate Maker's name to elven?" Solas now stares at her, eyes slightly narrowed, piercing into her soul. He surely sounds more forceful than he intended.  
She turns to him, surprised at his sudden reaction.  
"Why?... I don't know. I just forgot the name in human language. I'm sorry." She does sound guilty, and he regrets his earlier sharpness.  
"You did nothing to be sorry for." He assures her softly. "It is just... not what I'm used to."  
"I didn't mean to offend you!" Herald pleads, her fingers interlacing each other nervously.  
Does really she think she’s offended his religious feelings? The irony of that almost brings a grin to his face.  
"It is hardly in your power to offend me, Herald." Solas offers at last.  
"No, I mean, I know it is wrong to translate names, I'm the first one against it!" She continues, emotions still tingling in her voice. Solas knows his curiosity won't let this conversation end now.  
"What do you mean?" He teases her to go on. Well, isn't she a rare treat to the inquisitive mind.  
"I mean I was always confused how they translate the names of elven gods to human language. You see, some names they translate, but they do not dare to call Elgar'nan 'the spirit of vengeance'. And it is right, he is not!" Herald casts a quick look at the sky as if scared of her own audacity.  
Solas remains quiet and unmoved.  
She goes on, her face becoming hot with agitation. "Some meanings are lost to the ages - Mythal, Sylaise, Andruil - and it is best that way. There is a god, and there is a name, and how self-righteous one must be to think he knows a god through the name!" There is obviously no stopping her. "Like they say Falon'din is a friend of the dead, but you can also translate it like 'not your friend'. Which is also true. Those meanings are lost in translation."  
As they are in ages, Solas thinks.  
"What do you think of Fen'harel's name?" Strangely, he can't hold himself back. You can't study someone if you don't ask right questions, Solas justifies his actions to himself.  
She shrugs her shoulders. "The same. So quick to say that 'harel' is fearful, but the word is much more complex. Funny thing, there were times, I didn't get that Fen'harel and the Dread Wolf are the one. My mother used to tell me 'Ma tel'harel nadas, ma atisha'len nadas' when I was not behaving. So I thought that 'harel' was more like 'feisty, unruly'."  
That is not what he's heard from the Dalish before. He takes some little pleasure in her carelessly expressed reasoning. What he would give to express himself that freely again. Solas is so involved in his thoughts that he feels her eyes on his face too late, when she is already staring. She watches him, taken aback with his keen interest. How long is it since she's stopped talking? Solas scolds himself mentally for losing his guard, turning his face away. Still, all this talk, is it the mark’s influence, is it her own ideas, what on earth is it?! He can't find the solution.  
"You didn't answer my original question." She remarks finally, her voice sounds slightly amused and moved by the unexpected intensity of their talk.  
"Do I believe in the Maker? Why would you think I did?" Solas replies calmly. Inside, he struggles to calm himself.  
"Well, you look like a hermit, they are the religious type." Herald explains her reasoning. But she does not sound sure of it anymore.  
"Well, I guess, not in my case." He answers chuckling. A hermit, huh? But she does not leave, evidently not satisfied with his answer, waiting, demanding. She is strong, and not only physically, Solas muses.  
"I believe in free will and open mind, and everything that is reasonable," he states carefully. Around her, he must be cautious, because even as a Dalish she knows much more than anyone in the Inquisition.  
Surprisingly, she does not pry further, as he expected her to. She was not really waiting for him to confess his beliefs, she wanted to get the answers for herself, Solas guesses. It is not in his habit to tell people what they haven’t even asked. Cautious, he must be cautious.  
"Well, then I should ask someone else. I bet there is another way to see all this besides Cassandra’s." Herald sighs. She sounds tired, and a bit disappointed. She has sought comfort in him, he realizes suddenly. That is a disturbing thought, but not an unpleasant one. "Guess this Maker is no better than our gods, never listening to those praying." She comments somewhat angrily, kicking some little stone with her leg. Then she gets up and leaves.  
********  
Even the memory of that talk stirred the questions in his head anew. Indeed, Inquisitor had made elven language her own, found new uses for it in the ever-changing world. As she did with the mark. Closing the rifts instead of opening them, cutting off the Veil instead of pulling on it. The Inquisitor and her mark. The nature of the relationship between them was a question that had been pestering his mind since he studied it in Haven's dungeons. Had the Inquisitor mastered her mark, or had the mark mastered her?  
The problem seemed to have no solution. Solas had not known Lavellan before she had been marked, and the mark didn't even exist then. It was pointless to try solving the puzzle, just as a blind guess would be. Yet, he couldn't help trying.  
Solas examined the drawing he had just finished. It depicted a tall slender female elf in a long, dark robe. Her eyes were cast down, her long fair braids fell to the earth both sides of her head, and her face only slightly resembled Ellana Lavellan. Her left hand was raised to her breast, the back of her hand turned to the beholder. A small shining circle was embedded in her palm, and a bigger, concentric one, representing her heart, was being filled with that shine.  
Solas wondered if that was the answer he sought. He couldn't stop asking himself, what were the odds of a single Dalish elf that got the mark being not like other Dalish? Minor, faint, negligible. What were the odds of cardinal character changes under the influence of such old powerful magic? Significant. Minutes ago she'd told him she had not been eager to learn before the mark. And now she wanted, wanted to know everything, from human religion to Qunari customs.  
Of course, it was the mark. It was simple, only he had been denying himself the obvious answer. It was not her he was attracted to, but a strange creature twisted by the mark, by magic, his magic.  
Solas made a displeased grunt, his lips twitching in self-despise. His hands closed into fists involuntarily, his left hand crumpling the drawing. That sketch was certainly not going on the wall.  
It was his Pride, all over again. He was being attracted to himself, in a strange, sick, narcissistic way. Just how selfish must he be to crush hearts and fates of the others for the love of himself?  
Furious, helpless, weakened, Solas threw the spoilt piece of paper to the earthen plate where he kept his charcoal, and burnt it with the smallest fire spell. His ragged breath interrupted his deep sigh. He had his answer. No more puzzles, no more hopes, he had figured her out.  
Or maybe not.  
Either way, he had to stay away from her. For indeed she was a bright fire burning in the night. But he was not the traveler warming himself, he was the night itself, cold and unforgiving. And no matter how blazing she was, he would consume her, not even getting a bit warmer himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank so much for reading! And a special thanks to those who left kudos on the first chapter. You can't imagine how nice it is to get feedback (or maybe you know exactly how great it is). This chapter was less dialog-y, and I hope my writing was not too bad (I'm not a native speaker). Please let me know if there are errors.
> 
> Ma tel'harel nadas, ma atisha'len nadas - you must not be "harel", you must be a calm child.
> 
> P.S. If there is anyone who can draw Solas' sketch described here, I would be immensely grateful.  
> Unfortunately, I can't draw. But I imagine this sketch as something looking both like Solas' initial card and female elf card.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan finally gets a reply from her brother. Solas is unhappy with the Inquisitor's decisions. It ends up in the emotional entanglement of all sorts.

Solas heard the sound of the door opening, and lifted his eyes from his book. Inquisitor entered the room from the bridge that connected the castle with the ramparts.  
"Hello, Solas," she greeted him cheerfully, still walking further into the room. "Start packing. We're leaving for Hinterlands, the day after tomorrow." Ellana stopped near his table, and draw a breath. "Cassandra, Bull, you, and me."  
"Inquisitor." Solas slammed his book shut and got up to face her. She saw a disapproving frown coming upon his face. "Hinterlands? Are you sure that is wise? Isn't there a Grey Warden waiting for you somewhere in Crestwood?" He waved his right hand in the indefinite direction.  
Inquisitor shrugged her shoulders. "Let him wait. Those people in Hinterlands are under our protection now, and there is still much to be done." She began to walk away, but Solas started to talk again and she stopped.  
"I can see how it is enjoyable for you to see their grateful faces and hear their infinite blessings, but cold and hunger will become the least of those people problems if you do not stop Corypheus." Solas declared, narrowing his eyes in displeasure. She barely recognized his voice, so cold and accusing it became. How humiliating it was to hear him scolding her like that.  
"Don't treat me like an unreasonable child! I surely know that!" Lavellan snapped at him, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "And I'm going to stop him. We do not even know if these Grey Wardens have to do something with Corypheus." She reasoned, slowly calming down, but still obviously irritated.  
Solas shook his head, his lips turning down in a grimace as he listened to her. He crossed his arms and eyed her sternly. "Grey Wardens are foolish children playing with fire!" His voice grew stronger, his anger at her blindness now evident. "For all we know, Corypheus may be handing them oiled cloth at this very moment!" The mage stretched his left arm to point fiercely somewhere in Blackwall's direction.  
Inquisitor remained silent as if she waited for him to calm down. She underestimated the situation, as it soon turned out.  
"One may think you're hiding from your foe, Inquisitor, soothing your fears with the prayers of mindless followers." Solas stated bitterly, his anger having finally dissipated from his eyes, but his annoyance was still present.  
Ellana felt the throbbing ache growing in her heart when she heard such cold-hearted accusations from a man she considered a friend. He dared to call her a coward, after all she had suffered! She felt tears forming in her eyes against her will. Hurt and pain clouding her vision and her thoughts, Ellana cried at him, as her finger almost poked him into his chest:  
"Oh, excuse me for not desiring to meet the creature who has sworn to kill me! Easy for you to say! It is not you who has been branded with that damned Anchor! It is not you whom Corypheus can torture with the flick of his fingers! You… you dare… you do not understand…" She wiped her cheeks and nose with the back of her hand, struggling to collect herself. Ellana got a little satisfaction seeing his disoriented expression. She began moving forward, causing him to step back, until he had to clutch the edge of his table with his left hand to steady himself. "You," she drawled with hate, "why would you care? Your beloved Arlathan is long dead; what is this world, twisted, forgetting, full of foolish and stubborn ‘children’, what is it to you?" Lavellan spat the words at him. Her anger was wiping out her hurt, and thus, was more than welcome to her.  
Solas did not move, but the rage she’d never seen before twisted his features. She saw his left hand whiten as it clenched hard around the table’s edge. His right hand was now also balled into a fist, small flames dancing at the tips of his fingers. All her senses screamed to her to run for her life, as he watched her, his eyes merely slits, pure hatred along with the deep hurt emanating from them. But she stood still before him, all sprung up, hardened by her own enragement, daring him to strike her. She waited for him to strike her; she wanted him to strike her.  
But he did not.  
Solas closed his eyes, lowering his head. His arms relaxed, as he sank down to sit on the edge of the table. When he looked up at her again, there was the usual sadness in his deep blue eyes.  
"Despite my grudging, I do care for this world," he sighed. "It seems, however, that you do not." He ended quietly, and got up only to sit again in his chair, resting his head against its high back.  
Ellana felt disappointed by his sudden retreat. It looked like she’d won the argument, but why did it feel so hollow and shameful? Nevertheless, she would not lose her face.  
"So, you’re not going to Hinterlands?" She stated, not asked.  
"No."  
"Fine. I’ll go ask Dorian, then." Ellana replied willfully, and headed out to climb the stairs.  
She strained her ears to hear his reply, however quiet it might be, but heard none.  
******  
That argument had happened the previous night. Next morning came, but the frustration remained. So long Solas had been thinking about that talk, and every time his thoughts led him to conclusion that he had been wrong. He handled the situation badly, if he had handled it at all. He'd let his wish that she finish her quest, finish _his_ quest as soon as possible, get the better of him. Of course, she was afraid. He needed to lead her, not to push her ahead, or he might as well push her over her limits.  
The matter still remained urgent. Solas saw no other way of dealing with it, than speaking to the Inquisitor again. He rarely sought her out before, but now he had to explain the importance of the task lying before her.  
The elf opened his door and entered the Main Hall that was full of morning hasty movements. Varric, on the contrary, was sitting before his fireplace, relaxed and thoughtful. He greeted Solas with a nod.  
"Have you seen the Inquisitor, Master Tethras?" Solas asked, straightforward.  
Varric grinned. "It's about your yesterday's yelling, isn't it, Chuckles?"  
"How do you..." Solas dropped the question without finishing. Of course Varric had heard everything. "Do you know where she is?" He repeated, more impatiently this time.  
"I can't be sure, but I saw Ruffles going into her quarters with some papers, and then going out without them. You get the picture." Varric replied and turned his head to gaze into the fire again.  
"My thanks." Solas nodded curtly, and headed in the mentioned direction.  
He climbed the stairs effortlessly, his long and lean legs moving quickly and quietly. The door was not closed, so he entered the room without knocking. One more staircase and he saw Inquisitor sitting at her desk, presumably occupied with the documents Varric had mentioned. Her posture was calm and relaxed, he noted, feeling his heart ease a bit.  
"Good morning, Inquisitor, do you have a moment?" He began, his tone polite but his voice strong.  
She got up, somewhat hurriedly, casting a surprised glance at him. Her face wore the signs of weariness, her eyes clouded with a mix of emotions.  
"Oh, it's you, Solas!" Ellana said a bit more cheerfully than would be believable. Solas noticed she was trying not to look disturbed, not to reveal her distress. Well, at least she wasn't angry at him, or did not wish to show it, which was enough for now. But nevertheless, he felt he had interrupted something.  
"If it is the wrong moment, I can come later." He backed off at once. No more pressure, he told himself.  
Ellana protested momentarily, her voice sounding unnaturally delighted again: "No, no, it is alright, please take a sit," she welcomed him to the couch near the entrance with a gesture.  
Solas sat as he was invited, his back still straight, his hands on his knees, his face absolutely unreadable. He waited for her to ask him what he wanted.  
"I've just received the answer from my brother!" Inquisitor scooped the piece of paper from her desk, and clutched it in front of her, defensively. She came forward to sit on the same couch and continued. "I can't thank you enough for help, Solas." She sounded more relaxed than before, but some uneasiness still lingered in her features.  
Solas was not content with her swaying from his intended talk, but he decided to be patient. He could not allow her locking herself from him, so he had to indulge her. Furthermore, she looked pained and tired, and she had probably had the same sleepless troubled night as he.  
"You're welcome, Inquisitor." He let his answer be as short as it could be.  
"Wait, I'll read you some parts, so you can see how much you helped." Ellana continued, putting the paper before her eyes. Solas wondered if he imagined her desire to cover herself from his gaze. He saw her rushing herself, urging herself to appear vigorous, strong, and happy, pouring all the strength left in her into that image. Was she trying to convince him, or herself?  
Meanwhile, Ellana began reading:  
"You surprised us all, lethallan, with your writing. When did your elven become so good? I had to ask the Keeper to translate me some parts! Of course, I remember you were the smartest and the most curious child of the clan, but you keep mastering your knowledge even among the shemlen. "  
Reading seemed to let her become calmer, as she hid her face behind the paper and her emotions behind another one's words. Solas decided to keep silence, hoping she would drop the subject soon.  
"See? Oh, and another one!" Ellana exclaimed, still clinging to the letter as if it was a shield. "The Keeper also read it to mother, and she seemed to understand you. She even muttered something in reply, but I didn't get much more than 'ma'da'len'. You were the only one who could understand her. She doesn't talk much since... you've... left..." Last words came out with pauses, interrupted with frantic air intakes. Ellana finally lowered the paper, holding it in her right hand. She closed her eyes tightly, biting on her knuckles in despair, as the silent sobs began shaking her body, single tears running over her cheeks.  
Solas hated how helpless he found himself. He understood that she was not going to read those parts to him, but in her unstable emotional state she had chased herself into it. Solas could not deny being guilty, at least partially, of leading her into that emotional breakdown. Yesterday, he had been too harsh, too demanding, too thick-skinned.  
Sadly, he would not allow himself comforting her, and for her sake, mostly. He had to keep his distance. He could not hug her, could not kiss her, and could not wipe her tears away.  
"Lethallan." Solas said, the immense kindness of his voice reaching out for her. This much he could give her. He could listen. "Tell me about your mother."  
Slowly, hesitantly Ellana lowered her hand, angry marks showing in the places where she'd bitten herself. She cast a cautious look at the other elf, her eyes still red, but also big and bright. She was struck by the intensity of his regard, by the deep compassion in it. She knew she needed to talk about the matter; she'd needed that since she left her clan. Lowering her head to look at the letter on her lap, Ellana sighed. Then she started her story, looking far away into the horizon, through the balcony door.  
"Mother... she is from clan Aranel, one of those closed northern clans. They are very isolated, hostile even, and they speak only elven. They rarely bond with outsiders. My parents met at Arlathvhen. My mother is said to be very beautiful then, with her braids white as Crystal Grace, and her eyes blue as the purest ice." A small smile touched her lips, despite everything, with the memory of her mother.  
"They fell in love from the first sight, like in the stories of old; even the language barrier did nothing to stop their passion. They had two children, my brother and me, but then, they grew apart, I don't know why, because I was a child. I only remember father being always displeased when I spoke elven to him. They talked less and less with each other, and my brother was soon taken away to train as a hunter. I could speak both languages, so I was the only one who my mother could talk to. We got very attached to each other, but father was implacable: I was to become a hunter apprentice too. Mother cried, yelled, but he didn't understand and didn't listen. He told me that I would not want to end like mother; I needed to socialize, to become a full member of our clan. Father wanted the best for me, as did mother." Ellana paused, collecting herself, as the memories of her difficult youth flooded over her.  
"At the age of eleven I left mother. I still visited her, talked to her, but the visits grew shorter, and I forgot much of elven. I still loved her then, and I still do, but with time I could hardly understand her. My brother never spent much time with her, and when I left for the Conclave... I left my mother alone."  
Inquisitor felt herself on the edge of crying again. She got up and walked to stand on the balcony, not far, but far enough to hide her fresh tears. After a moment or two she added quietly: "You must think me childish to worry about my parents’ relationship when the world is coming to an end."  
"No." Solas replied just as quietly. She heard him get up, and felt him walking towards her as his voice grew closer: "The mistakes of youth are as old and sorrowful as the world itself." The mistakes her parents made. The mistakes he made. The mistakes she was yet to make.  
As she finally struggled to stop her crying, she turned back to face Solas, wishing to thank him for his attention. It turned out he stood closer to her than she'd thought, and she found herself bumping into him. Inquisitor tried to steady herself, stopping her circular movement by putting her both palms on his chest.  
All at once, her eyes darted up to look at his face, both eager and afraid to see his reaction. For half a second two greatly surprised pair of eyes watched each other. The world stopped, the breathing stopped. When Solas finally gasped for some air, she’d already withdrawn her hands, backing away, and turning her back to him once more, this time hiding her flushed cheeks.  
"Seranna-ma." Ellana muttered under her breath. She had to concentrate, there were important things she needed to tell him.  
Solas did not dare moving forward to her, not again. He saw her shoulders going up, as she crossed her arms in front of her.  
"I…thank you. And… yesterday, you were right. Tomorrow we set out for Crestwood." Inquisitor stated quietly, calmly, but he still could feel she was bracing herself to say that.  
Just like that, he thought. He’d spent the whole night, looking for the words that could convince her, and she’d just agreed with him willingly. How many more times was she going to surprise him?  
"I was right, but I’ve wronged you. I apologize." He replied in the same quiet manner.  
Ellana contracted her arms, cold from the morning mountain air or from the fearful anticipation of that trip. She looked so small, so fragile when compared to the mighty Frostback Mountains.  
"Lethallan." Solas let his caring words wrap around her soul once more. "Why did you lie to me?"  
Ellana finally turned to look at him, resting her hands on the railing, leaning on it.  
"Lie?" She asked, arching an eyebrow, her sincere amazement evident.  
"You’ve told me you were not eager to learn as a child," Solas elaborated, waving his right hand at her. "Your brother tells otherwise." He pointed back to the couch, where the letter lay, forgotten.  
Slowly getting his meaning, Ellana looked down, and answered hesitantly, shame burning on her cheeks.  
"I… did want to learn. But I’m not a mage, and I will never be a Keeper, so that knowledge… was not for me." She explained, and the words were not coming easy out of her.  
Solas frowned disapprovingly. "How can they deny the knowledge to one who seeks it?" He wondered in an indignant protest.  
Inquisitor sighed ruefully. "That’s exactly the reaction I was trying to avoid." She valued Solas’ wisdom and treasured his advice, but his opinion on her people, the Dalish, was simply causing her much pain.  
Solas shook his head. "You should not take this upon yourself. You are not to blame." He watched her, content to see that she raised her eyes back at him. "Don’t you agree with me?" Solas asked kindly.  
Ellana seemed to be torn between his reasoning and things she’d known since childhood.  
"Our life is not easy. If I’m better as a hunter, if it gives more food and furs to my clan, my family, why should I protest? To survive, we all need to do what we are best suited for." It was not marvelous, but it was truth, Ellana considered.  
Solas’ distaste was written all over his face. "Now you sound like Qunari." He almost hissed at her.  
"And you don’t like it, I know." She replied, suddenly overwhelmed by her weariness. She traveled enough with Solas and Iron Bull in her company to hear those arguments for a hundred times.  
"Let me put it this way. If I wanted to learn how to write, but _willingly_ chose to train as a hunter, because more than anything I wished to help my family, my people, as much as I could, would you call it a ‘free will’?" Ellana reasoned passionately. Her people might have been wrong a lot, but she still loved them.  
To her astonishment, Solas smiled, obviously moved by her speech.  
"I would call it a ‘noble heart’." He admired her bravery, her devotion.  
Inquisitor beamed at his praise.  
"Can a liar have a noble heart, Solas?" She teased him, reminding him of his earlier accusations.  
That question. Solas felt uneasy, disturbed, for she could not imagine how many times he had asked himself that. Had wondered if there were justifications for lies.  
"I truly hope so." He whispered, unable to look into her eyes, so many regrets filling his mind.  
Ellana stared at him in bewilderment. She saw his features sharpen, and his voice was so sad, so old, so hopeless. Did she offend him? He was so kind to her, and she wished to reciprocate.  
"I apologize for not telling you the truth." She hurried to confess, hoping it would sooth his mysterious pain somehow. "I could not imagine it was so important to you."  
Solas shook his head again. Why was she ever so quick to accept the blame?  
"How could you?" He admitted, still sounding sad. But the warmth was returning to his eyes.  
"Yes, how could I? I barely know you!" Ellana exclaimed, grasping at a straw to change the subject to something more cheerful. "I would like to know more about you, Solas." She added a bit shyly.  
Solas stared at her, taken aback one more time. So, his attraction was not one-sided. That was, well, interesting, if not more.  
"You continue to surprise me. All right, let’s talk… But not now, now you must rest, Inquisitor." He replied lightly. She did look tired.  
"It is morning! And I’m to meet my War Council in half an hour!" She protested.  
"You had not slept at night. Meet your advisors, but then you need to sleep." Solas insisted. She’d agreed to go to Crestwood, she would surely see that he was right once again.  
"I’m not going to sleep during the daytime, I’m-"  
"Do not argue." The older elf enounced almost menacingly, although his playful grin gave him away. His gaze dominated her, his darkened eyes were mesmerizing.  
Ellana felt the heat rising up in her face. She found his low voice, his confident intonation strangely attractive. But she was not going to give up easily.  
She narrowed her eyes slightly, and cocked her head, so the tip of her left ear came out of her thick mop of blonde hair, pink and delicious in the morning sun. She was so pretty, and she knew it.  
"Or what?" She purred, defiant, daring, teasing.  
"Or else." Solas growled, the long forgotten feeling of a wolf waking inside him nearly tripping him over.  
_‘Or else I will lay you down myself, and ensure you’re staying in bed by pinning you to it with my own weight.’_ The images rushed through his mind, the wave of heat rolling over his body, shuddering him, and knocking some sense into his head at last.  
He was pleased to see that Ellana was also flustered, her lips torn apart by a surprised intake of air.  
She blinked at him, and finally mastered an answer: "Ma nuvenin."  
Then she gathered herself, and began walking forward to leave the balcony, heading for her council.  
When she brushed past him, she added in a barely audible whisper: "Ma tel’harel nan’dirthen dar’din."  
Such audacity. Solas could not help staring at her back while she was walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you so much for reading. Every chapter leaves me without any strength to continue, but your feedback returns me to life. You know what happens in the next chapter. The Fade kiss.
> 
> Ma tel’harel nan’dirthen dar’din – Do not trick/frighten (both meanings are good) me with empty (dar’din – that do not exist) threats (nan’dirthen – talk of vengeance).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before leaving for Crestwood, Solas has some tasks to fulfill. It ends unexpectedly for him.

Solas’ plans were changing fast. He could not imagine that Inquisitor would agree to go to Crestwood so early. And the meeting with a Grey Warden would surely lead to their long absence from Skyhold. Solas needed to see Cole.  
Fortunately, Cole had been allowed to join the Inquisition. The boy was unusual, to put it mildly. Solas was sure he was a spirit-like creature, given his ability to hide, to make people forget, to read the minds. Yet he had a body of a human. Something was not right, and that left Cole very uncertain and confused. Solas promised him he would look after him, try to explain the world to him. The boy accepted the offer eagerly.  
Leaving the Inquisitor’s quarters, crossing the Main Hall, Solas passed through his room to pick some books he thought Cole would like. Then he crossed the bridge above the courtyard, marched through the Cullen’s office that was empty because of War Council and stopped on the ramparts, the breathtaking view of the Frostback Mountains enthralling him again. The image from only half an hour before emerged in his mind – the Inquisitor’s tiny frame surrounded by the same old snow-covered peaks. They were even older than him and probably remembered more of Skyhold history than he could ever learn. Before these mountains, even Solas felt small. Yet, their task felt to be so much greater than Thedas itself. The mountains stood tall and proud, just as he had sworn to stand, when he took the name.  
Finally he resumed his pace reaching the tavern’s attic in almost no time. Cole, as usual, was nowhere to be seen.  
“Cole? Hello?” Solas called out, searching the room with his eyes.  
“Oh, you have come.” A pleasantly surprised voice came from under him. Solas looked down and saw the boy sitting on the floor in the corner.  
Solas arched an eyebrow. “I always keep my promises.” He stated in his polite, but firm manner.  
Cole stared in front of him, suddenly looking a bit lost. “But you promise little.” He remarked matter-of-factly.  
Solas sighed, but then the light smile came to his face. He put the books on the existing pile, and slowly lowered himself to sit on the floor next to Cole. He always felt at ease around spirits, because they saw through him and did not judge him. They had no personality and no desire to conduct judgements. And Solas did not have to hide, did not have to restrain himself, and did not have to lie.  
“So how is it going, Cole?” The elf asked sympathetically.  
The boy glanced at him, as if not understanding. Then he paused a bit, and it seemed he tried to read himself, evidently failing.  
“I’m…fine, I think.” He finally answered. “She lets me stay, she lets me help, she lets me be.” He added in his melodic trance-like intonation. Turning back to Solas, Cole stared at him questioningly: “Will _you_ let me?”  
“Why do you ask _my_ permission?” Solas asked sounding amused. He found himself rather comfortable leaning his back on a chest standing nearby.  
“I don’t know.” Cole shrugged his shoulders. “ _You_ know that.” He explained as if it was obvious.  
Oh, maybe he did know. Every being touched by the Fade, be it a spirit, or a possessed mortal, and even the Inquisitor felt some authority in Solas. Was it due to the amount of time he’d spent in the Fade, or due to his expert knowledge of Veil magic, or due to his elvhen origin, Solas had no means to find out. Yet his experience with the spirits proved that they were easily drawn to him and treated him respectfully.  
“Of course, I let you.” Solas replied softly. The spirit’s purpose should never be denied.  
Cole smiled at that, his childlike face lit up. His features relaxed after some moments, his eyes going slightly unfocused once more.  
“The campfire is burning in the night. The night embraces, and the flames turn to ashes. Everything he touches turns to ashes. No, not her. Please, not her. Never her.” Cole spoke quickly, the plead crawling into his intonation at his last words.  
Solas frowned, both at his pain and displeasure. His thoughts were troubling enough, even not being recited out loud.  
“I have to ask you to stop that.” He requested in a quiet, kind voice.  
“But you let me!” Cole protested.  
“I let you help people, not me.” Solas remarked, and his words were filled with sadness and imminence.  
The spirit stared at him, his eyes wide with surprise. “Are you not one of the people?” He asked.  
There were too many answers to that question, and all of them were true, in a sense. Solas did not have the strength, or, more honestly, the will, to venture in that direction.  
“You cannot help me.” He stated, lowering his head. How he wished that was not true.  
Cole remained silent for some time. “I can. You are wrong.” He finally said, and he sounded so inspired and sure, that Solas almost let himself believe that.  
“Wrong?” Solas asked, despite himself. Was there a way to let this pain go, a way that this spirit could help him?  
“Yes, wrong.” Cole confirmed. His eyes gleamed with hope as he began his soft chanting.  
“Bigger, brighter, better. Not the fire, the sun. She is the sun and he can never quench her. For the night ends the day, but the day ends the night. They long to be together, but can never be. Never together, never alone. Embracing each other and whispering tenderness each dawn and dusk, as it is meant to be.” Cole finished looking up at the ceiling in awe, as if he saw some miracle up there.  
The hope. It should have been the hope, that warm and catching feeling that rose in Solas’ chest. Spirits never lied. Could it be true? He was already proven wrong in his judgement of Ellana, and not once. Cole described them as equals, belonging together. That felt so right. Solas ran his hand over his forehead and his head, overwhelmed. His hand trembled in the anticipation. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance it _was_ meant to be. _Never together_ , that he knew, but _never alone_ , that he did not.  
“I helped.” Cole smiled proudly. He did not even doubt that in the slightest.  
“You did.” Solas said lightly, his intonation going up, surprised. “Thank you.”  
The silence resumed, but it was comfortable and soothing this time. Cole watched the elven mage with a compassion that was his essence. Solas looked at the floor, letting himself to remain in the bliss for a while.  
“You told me I’m from the Fade. I do not remember what it is like. Can you tell me?” Cole asked when he was sure Solas was ready to talk again.  
“Of course.” Solas loved telling about the Fade. He told Cole the Fade was a realm of thoughts, memories, and wishes. How everything could be both true and false there, how you could be easily lost there if you did not know what you wanted to find. How the Fade was the imprint of the reality, changing, fickle, and vulnerable. You could alter the Fade around you, but it always altered you. And the world without Fade would be like a man without dreams, like a Tranquil. And he, Cole, was the part of the Fade, the part of world’s soul, the world’s compassion.  
Cole listened, fascinated. He was a bit sorry he did not remember that, but he was happy he was helping. Even then, he helped Solas by asking him about the Fade, and seeing how delighted the mage was to speak about it, Cole beamed with the delight himself.  
“Are there other spirits you talk to?” Cole asked.  
“Yes, there are, why?” Solas inquired.  
“Can you tell them about me? So they can visit me, and talk to me, when you are away?” Cole continued. “I can try to go to sleep, like you do.”  
Solas laughed softly. “You can’t sleep, Cole. Why don’t you talk more to the people surrounding you?” He suggested.  
“I do that. I just wanted to talk to spirits too.” Cole repeated. “Can you go to the Fade now, so I can try to sense it through you?”  
Solas considered the idea for a moment. If Cole was able to see the darkest corners of his soul, why shouldn’t he be able to catch a glimpse of the Fade through his mind? And furthermore, Solas knew he would not be able to visit the Fade soon, as he would be concentrated on their mission.  
“All right, let’s try it.” Solas said, closing his eyes. He relaxed his back, and his arms, stretched his legs on the floor, and cleared his mind, sending himself into the sleep, into the Fade.  
******  
When Solas opened his eyes, he was in the Fade. It was blank at the moment, the usual greenish sky and greyish ground. He had yet to send it into changing by his will. The first thought – it was Ellana. He could not stop thinking about her, not after she opened up to him, not after Cole’s words. Solas felt the Fade pulsating around him, the sky started turning dark blue, but in the center the green remained. It was the Breach.  
Solas looked around wildly. Burning, shouting, the smell of death and battle, everything was growing louder and more real with every moment. It was the evening of the attack on the Haven. Why, all of a sudden?  
Ellana, he thought again. It was her dream that he was drawn into by his desire to get to her. She had probably gone to sleep as he had asked her, but she was not resting. It was a nightmare.  
He heard the movements and he saw Corypheus standing tall, yanking the Inquisitor from the ground. Solas felt his heart clench in pain as he saw her helpless in the air, struggling to get free.  
He had not seen that on the day of the attack. They ran, as she had ordered, ran and never turned back.  
He had to come closer, he had to do something.  
“Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the Golden Throne, and it was empty!” Solas heard Corypheus spat his hateful words, as he threw Ellana away, and the sound of her hitting the trebuchet was almost unbearable.  
Ellana managed to stand up, and unexpectedly, the fearless smile came across her face, as she looked up at him, defiantly.  
“I couldn’t care less about your Golden Throne and your Maker!” She exclaimed, victorious as she saw confusion showing on the magister’s face, and her voice was filled with the strength Solas could have never expected.  
“Ah.” The darkspawn magister finally drawled with a despising frown. “ _Rattus sylvestris_.” His lips twitched in disgust, as he continued: “Do you think your _Creatores_ will help you? You cannot reach them, or they you.”  
The smile was wiped out of her face now, her jaw clenched, but she still stood her ground.  
“We still have one that is not locked away!” She yelled angrily not wishing to give up. Did she mean…?  
“ _Lupus_?” Now it was Corypheus’ turn to smile, and that smile was making Solas both furious and sick.  
“Oh yes, he might help you. He has been _most_ helpful lately.” Corypheus told seeming so pleased with his joke. And then he began to laugh.  
He was not simply laughing; he was bathing in his joy and her helpless fury, her disarmed ignorance. The fits of his laughter seemed to cause her pain, as the Anchor was pulsating brightly, and Ellana nursed her marked hand with her other one, clutching it to her breast, tears running freely over her cheeks. She was unable to move, she was unable to speak, and even unable to cry. She only breathed heavily, her eyes wide with pain and fear.  
Suddenly, the magister stopped laughing. Angry with himself, he narrowed his eyes at her.  
“After all he’s done, you still choose him as your god before me!” His face was twisted with rage, as he stretched out his hand to grab her once more.  
That had to stop. Solas knew he should not interfere in other’s dreams, but she needed the rest, not this torture all over again. He raised his hands, and pulled on the Veil, drawing it in around the magister, twisting it into a tight knot, so the darkspawn could be wrapped in it, cut from the Inquisitor dream.  
Corypheus’ figure blurred, as if mirroring in the troubled water, and then disappeared. Haven changed almost at once. It was still and silent, empty, but peaceful, as was now Ellana herself. She saw him and smiled, obviously not remembering what had just happened.  
“Solas, you promised me a talk.” She addressed him lightheartedly. “Why here?”  
“This is where I found you.” Both now and then. “It will always be important to me.” Solas answered, bowing his head in a greeting.  
He gestured her to come along, and they began walking towards the Chantry building. Solas studied the elven girl – she looked different. It was her dream, after all, and it was probably the way she used to think about herself, the way she used to look before the Inquisition. Ellana was dressed in the Dalish hunter armor – dark green tunic and breeches, and a leather jerkin reinforced with ironbark above that. She was barefoot, and another piece of ironbark was attached over her right knee, to facilitate the kneeling while shooting. Her longbow and her arrows were also there, behind her back.  
And even her face differed. Her hair was longer, and tied tightly behind her head, giving him the view of her pointy ears. She was calm, but wary, looking much younger than he remembered. She looked _rested_ , and Solas hoped she was finally resting in her sleep at the moment. He could not take his eyes off her, so slender, graceful and delicately strong she was, a true child of nature.  
He wanted to tell how he met her, and shortly, much faster than it would take to really walk there, they found themselves in the Haven’s dungeons. Solas saw Ellana shiver slightly at the sight of her shackles lying on the floor.  
“I sat beside you when you slept, studying the Anchor.” Solas began quietly, still half absorbed in his thoughts.  
“You studied me? Varric told me you were keeping me alive.” Ellana finally tore her gaze from those damned shackles to look at him, an eyebrow arched.  
“That too.” Solas agreed good-humoredly. “But to heal you I needed to understand what had happened to you. I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found so little.” He lamented, watching her with the tenderness she had rarely seen in his eyes before. Such a fragile being, so brutally bound, her hollow breathes, her cold sweating, and him alongside – guilty, helpless, futile. Solas’ memory readily provided those images of their meeting, but he guarded them to not affect her dream.  
Ellana, on the contrary, was simply curious about that day, the sufferings of it lost on her.  
“Test? What test? Can you show me one?” She exclaimed, evidently intrigued by his words.  
Solas could not help smiling. Again, she was showing interest in his studies, and in her dream it had to be genuine. The way her face lit up with curiosity, the way she was awed by his knowledge, it was priceless.  
“Well, I’m a Rift mage. I tried creating tiny rifts which your mark easily absorbed. That’s how I suggested its connection with the Breach.” Solas explained reasonably. He raised his right hand, putting together the tips of all his fingers and his thumb, and the smallest rift, no bigger than a coin, appeared in between them. “Try it,” Solas suggested, smirking at her enthusiastic expression, and moved the hand closer to her.  
Hesitantly, Ellana put out her marked hand, never taking her eyes off the glittering green of the rift. The Anchor also became brighter, and she felt the familiar tickling. When there was only half an inch left between their hands, the green flashed from the rift to her palm, and in half a second it was gone. Ellana draw in a breath, as she realized she had been holding it for a while. She glanced at Solas, still smiling contentedly and then back at her hand.  
“Can I do it again?” She asked eagerly.  
He could not refuse. “All right.” He nodded and moved his fingers to create another rift. But this time, Ellana was much faster, covering his hand with her palm and ending his magic before he could even start.  
“Ha!” She laughed clearly, the mirth glittering in her bright green eyes. “If you’re a Rift mage, then I’m a Rift Templar!” She joked happily.  
Solas’ eyes remained concentrated on her hand that still had not left their connection. The Anchor, it felt familiar, and why shouldn’t it? The feeling of the Orb, forgotten to Solas as it was, comforted him, bringing him wholeness. He returned his regard to her grinning face, and he smiled too, teasing and warning her at the same time. “Enatisha, lethallan.” Solas chided her kindly.  
Ellana took her hand back, her cheeks turning slightly pink. It was hard to say whether she was embarrassed by her childlike behavior, or by the realization they had just held hands. Either way, she grew quieter, and Solas decided to continue his story.  
“My tests were not informative enough. Cassandra suspected duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate, if I didn’t produce results.” He told her, pacing around the room.  
“Oh. I’m glad she didn’t.” Ellana only managed to say. She still watched him with interest, but she was not as light-hearted as before. His sharp, defined features looked so strong and determined in the weak light of the dungeons. He’d risked his life for her. Oh, how self-sacrificing he was. And how handsome he was, she added suddenly, surprising herself.  
The dark of the stone room was getting too depressed and the tone of his speech not much more cheerful either. He did not intend to burden her further. Some wishful thinking and they were out in the snowy Haven again.  
“You were never going to wake up. How could you, a mortal sent physically through the Fade?” Solas continued, as he walked away from the Chantry. Ellana followed him, listening attentively. He knew so much more than she. She flinched involuntarily at the word ‘mortal’. Why was he calling her that?  
Solas stopped abruptly, facing her, his face filled with too many emotions for her to grasp.  
“I was frustrated, frightened. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra… or she in me. I was ready to flee.” He confessed, the sincerity of his voice shocking her. Solas, ready to flee? That confident, ever-so-wise, never doubting Solas? Ellana searched his face for the signs of joke, but found none.  
“That is… hard to believe.” She said, and her answer came out as a whisper. The idea of him risking his safety, his very life to keep her alive was overwhelming enough. But knowing he had doubts, he had been afraid, he had been cornered, but still stayed, still helped… that got her heart beating faster and her head spinning.  
‘I’m not lying to you!’ Solas wanted to say, but that would be just that. A lie. He might still be lying to her in some things, but that conversation, that moment – that was about truth. The sole purpose of that talk was him opening himself to her, showing her his reasons, his thoughts, his feelings. It was very understandable to him that she was not prepared to see him as weak and doubting, for the Solas she knew was a carefully designed image.  
“What I am saying is true,” Solas replied softly, sadly. In her eyes, he saw that she believed him. He could not ask for more.  
“I told myself: one more attempt to seal the rifts.” He turned around, raising his hand to the image of the Breach in the sky. So desperate were both his voice and his gesture. A moment later, his posture relaxed, as he looked back at her, ready to admit his failure once again.  
“I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee, and then…”  
And then, he was holding her hand once again, and that was all she could think about. The world changed around her, but she did not care as long as he was clasping her arm, his fingers so firm, so warm, and so guiding.  
But soon it was all gone. Ellana lowered her arm, disappointed, but not letting him know it. When she met his eyes, her regrets were easily forgotten – the warmness in his regard largely exceeded the warmness of his hand. Solas smiled genuinely and reassuringly.  
“It seems you hold the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a gesture… and right then I felt the whole world change.” He ended his sentence with such affection, that Ellana doubted she has heard the right words, for the words themselves were not at all affectionate.  
Looking up to him, she raised her eyebrows and whispered back: “Felt the whole world change?”  
Yes, Solas thought. She had changed so much – his world, his beliefs, him. Before her, he would never think a mortal could bear the Orb magic. Before her, he would never think a Dalish elf could be so open-minded, so ready to learn, so eager to understand. Before her, he would never think that with the spirit so bright and marvelous a woman could make his heart beat so wildly for her, despite her being dressed in barbaric clothes and covered with slave markings.  
“You change… everything.” Solas let out. He meant every word. This day was about truth, and the truth he told her.  
Her heart was hammering, the pulse in her neck untamed, everything in her vision but him was blurring. The way he said it. Never before she felt Solas being so real, so present. He was throwing the words as big as ‘everything’ at her, like they cost nothing, like real Solas would never do. A totally new person stood before her, and she was madly attracted to him.  
“Sweet talker.” She muttered in confusion, still unsure how to react to her sudden desire for him, for that not-the-usual-Solas. When she returned her eyes to him, she saw he had turned away, his profile so proud and tempting. She heard him breathing heavily and she noticed he was barely holding himself from something raging inside him. Could it be…? Oh, please, let it be…  
Ellana reached out to trail her fingers on his jaw, only to look him into the eyes again, to see what it was burning in him. But when she touched his face, so cool from the mountain air, so fresh and smooth, her defenses fell. In one fluid movement, she leaped on him to press her lips to his mouth. Hot wave of victory ran down her body, soon to be replaced by the coldest feeling of rejection, as she felt he froze under her touch. Shamed and broken, she ended her embrace, turning her face away.  
More. More. More. _More_. That was the only word in his mind. She took him by surprise; he was dumbfounded for a second. But then, the beast in his head roared. More.  
Without thinking, Solas grabbed her upper arm, tugging her into the embrace again, and leaning down to kiss her, and properly, this time. Surely, she had been already marked by him, but now he wanted to claim her. And he did it, invading her space, invading her body, invading her mouth. He let his right hand circle around her waist, pulling her in, closer than it was possible.  
He let her draw a breath, releasing her lightly for a fleeting moment. He could not have imagined how the bright her eyes would shine, how wet her lips could be, how supple and slender she could feel in his hands. Solas leaned in for another kiss, running his tongue along her upper lip, but then he changed his mind and moved lower to kiss her jaw, sucking in her tender skin. The hand on her waist also traveled down to grip her backside, pushing her into him once again.  
“Solas.” Her mouth now free, she moaned quietly, but so close to his ear.  
Solas paused. The name was wrong. The name reminded him. It was all wrong. Them, it was wrong.  
He drew back, his hands gently leaving her. His troubled eyes searched hers, asking for forgiveness.  
“We shouldn’t. It is not right. Not even here.” He explained hurriedly.  
Ellana watched him, not sure what to say. What had just happened, did it really happen? She could not answer; her memory was not working properly. And he was talking riddles again.  
“Not even here?” She repeated, still very confused.  
Her question brought a light grin to his lips, despite everything. She was adorable in her naivety.  
“Where do you think we are?” Solas could not deny himself a bit of teasing, though his eyes did not match his voice in its mockery.  
Ellana cocked her head to one side, considering.  
“Hmm…in one of my wildest dreams of you?” She suggested smirking at him.  
Were there many? Solas could not help wondering.  
“No, wait!” The younger elf continued before he could say anything. “I can certainly do a lot _wilder_.”  
Could she? Solas chuckled skeptically. She did not know what she was talking about. Wilder than throwing herself into the embrace of a beast? Wilder than kissing a man she acknowledged as her god?  
“That is a matter of debate. Probably best discussed when you wake up.”  
******  
And then Solas opened his eyes. He was still sitting on the floor in the tavern’s attic, and his back was going numb. Cole, he thought anxiously. He must have seen it all. Solas berated himself for recklessness.  
But Cole was not sitting next to him as he did before. Searching the room, Solas was able to locate the boy – he was standing not far, his elbows leaning on the wooden railing, his head lowered forward as he watched the people below.  
“Cole?” Solas called out getting up and moving closer to him.  
Cole turned, and he seemed content with seeing the elf awake again.  
“I’m sorry… I left.” Cole muttered, his pale blue eyes focusing on Solas’ face. “I sensed him. Corypheus.” The boy paced around restlessly. “I don’t like him. I left. I know I should not be afraid. I need to take a hold on myself.” He stated finally stopping his movement and facing Solas.  
He had not seen anything. What a relief.  
Solas smiled kindly. “You are not the only one who needs that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are the translations (you may notice that I adore foreign languages, and I just can't stop from wanting more Latin from Cory).  
> Rattus sylvestris - rat from the woods (like a species name)  
> Creatores - multiple of Creator  
> Lupus - wolf
> 
> Enatisha - get quiet/peaceful
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it. I'm astonished how much I have written, honestly. But now I really want to continue the story, till it reaches my other story. Thank you for the feedback!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thought she would not see that the dream they'd shared was not simply a dream. She was confused and upset that the Solas she knew was not like her dream-Solas. The truth was brought to them by the Seeker. The long overdue explanation finally came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note before you continue your read. The scene in the previous chapter where Ellana confuses Corypheus with the unexpected reply was hugely inspired by the scene where Eowyn kills the Witch-King (I'm a huge LotR fan). Kudos to anyone who noticed the similarity!  
> 

The Crestwood mission turned out to be only the beginning, just as Solas had feared. Those Grey Wardens, stumbling in the dark, using the forces they did not even comprehend! Of course Corypheus would use them, foolish and determined as they were.  
Still, the journey was not at all fruitless. The Inquisitor could not leave the huge underwater rift opened, so they had to deal with it, and the Inquisition got a new stronghold. Inquisitor Lavellan seemed to be quite pleased as her main task was once more postponed. It was decided that they spend one day at Caer Bronach to check their supplies, their gear and simply rest. The castle had been inhabited and well-stocked, but they still preferred to sleep in their own tents.  
The breakfast, however, was far better than their usual camp meal. They had freshly-baked bread, and dried apples, and oats, and even milk and butter from the castle’s kitchens. After all that gloomy rain, walking corpses and flooded remnants of Old Crestwood, the morning and the breakfast seemed no less than royal.  
Solas woke up from the sunlight shining through the tent’s material. It was late. Nobody had woken him, as the day was dedicated to resting. Normally, he was an early bird, but he felt tired lately. He did not have the opportunity to speak with the Inquisitor about what had happened in the Fade, and, frankly, he did not see the way to do it. She did not mention it, and probably never would. It was just a dream to her, and it would remain as such. It was frustrating for him to see her in the normal state of friendliness and to long for the Fade image of her, passionate and aglow.  
Getting out of his tent, Solas looked around. Almost everybody was awake and they were enjoying their morning meal: Cassandra, Iron Bull, scout Harding, some of Leliana’s men, and other Inquisition agents. Ellana, on the other hand, was not eating, but standing behind seated Harding and doing her hair into a complex braid.  
Solas stared at her quizzically, arching an eyebrow.  
“Before you become the tenth person to ask me what in Thedas I’m doing, I’ll answer you - I love plaiting hair.” Ellana welcomed him, her lips curling up slightly. “It’s comforting and reminds me of home, of my friends.”  
Solo nodded and took a seat near the campfire, taking his bowl of oats from the serving man.  
“Did you have long hair yourself, Inquisitor?” Harding asked, angling her head upwards.  
“I did.” Ellana confirmed, gently urging the dwarven woman to return her head to the previous position and continued her work.  
“Why did you cut it? It’s so thick and fair, you’d look lovely!” Harding stated pitifully.  
“It was not my choice. I cut it when - wait, you do not know?” Ellana glanced around to see her friends’ faces directed at her. “I’ve told the story a hundred times to Cassandra when she was questioning me!” She explained.  
Everyone was now staring at the Seeker. The woman swallowed her food quicker than she’d normally do and protested: “I’m not a gossip teller! And no one asked me.”  
“Tell us the story, Inquisitor, please,” Harding suggested. It was a nice peaceful morning, and the story would be a perfect addition.  
“All right,” Ellana agreed, still stroking Harding’s long hair carefully. “They cut my hair when I was sent to the Conclave - it was cut to cover my ears. My Keeper also provided me with special face paint to mask my vallaslin. After all, I was sent to the Conclave not as a Dalish ambassador, but as a spy.”  
Iron Bull snorted at her words ungracefully.  
“What?” Ellana demanded impatiently.  
“You, a spy? You’re kidding me, Boss,” the qunari explained, grinning widely.  
“Why can’t I be a spy?” Inquisitor frowned in feigned displeasure.  
Iron Bull laughed shortly, but heartily. “Let’s just say that under the Qun you would never be a spy.”  
Keeping the ends of Harding’s hair in one hand, Ellana put the other one on her hip and glared at her companion daringly. “And _what_ would I be under the Qun?”  
The qunari let his gaze roam from her head to her toes, and his expression was highly inappropriate, lewd even, at least in Solas’ opinion.  
“You… would never be a spy.” He finally repeated his words, the disapproving glare of Cassandra restraining from naming Inquisitor’s occupation out loud.  
Ellana chuckled lightly, not giving the thought much attention. Solas, on the contrary, was fuming inside, his soul infuriated with the disrespect shown to her. His darkened eyes bored into the qunari mocking face, but Iron Bull was too occupied with his joke to notice. How dared he eyeing her like that, as if she had not already been taken? Solas’ eyes darted back to Ellana. The memory of their kiss in the Fade almost brought the smug smirk on his face. What would he say, that Bull, if he had seen the girl as Solas had seen her? All needy and moaning, with wet lips and clouded eyes, completely at his will, his name on her lips… Oh, that _name_. He should have kept her silent, or breathless, or whatever it took to make her quiet. He could have had her right there, on the Fade snow, if not for that _name_. That…  
“…Solas?” She asked softly, her eyes staring at him, surprised.  
_Fenedhis_. He glanced at her, his cheeks darkening, his eyes slightly unfocused. “I, ah, nothing.” He muttered, angry with himself for losing his concentration.  
“He’s just trying to imagine you with the long hair,” Harding joked. Her hair was all done now, and she probed her braid with her fingers. “If there’s anyone here begging to be imagined with another haircut, then it’s you, Solas!” She exclaimed merrily. Solas did not dignify that with the answer, and put more food into his mouth to justify his silence.  
“Anyway, my Keeper thought it was a good disguise. I had human armor, and I almost looked as a skinny human girl. Very pretty skinny human girl, mind you.” Ellana continued somewhat proudly. “I do not know the other culture’s standards, but believe me, among the Dalish, I’m considered a comely girl.” She finally sat down and began eating her breakfast.  
“Told you, Boss, you would never be a spy.” Iron Bull replied teasingly. Most people around burst into laughter, as now Bull’s meaning became quite clear. Smirking, the qunari got up. “I think I have to go get the news from the Chargers, I’m sure Red’s agents have them for me. Nice day, you all.”  
One by one, people began leaving the area, as though the day was meant for resting, there was still much to do. Cassandra was hoping to get the information on bandits groups on the roads and also speak to Sister Vaughn, Harding had to gather her scouts, and finally Solas and Lavellan were the only ones left, as they both began their meal later than the others.  
At first they were simply eating, looking into their plates. Ellana glanced up occasionally at her neighbor, Harding’s jokes still reverberating in her head. She watched his smooth head, trying to imagine his hair. It was not an easy task.  
“Say, Solas, is your hair curly or not?” She asked lightheartedly.  
Solas hummed at the absurdity of her question. “It is not.” He replied in an even tone, not even turning his face to her.  
Ellana sighed quietly. It was just stupid. He was the real Solas, and not the man from her dream, no matter how much she wanted it to change.  
“You know, if you had a long hair, I could braid it too,” she suggested musingly. She still craved for the conversation with him, even if he responded guardedly.  
Solas closed his eyes for a second, taking all his resolve to stop imagining her running her fingers through his once indeed long hair. She had meant it as an amicable gesture, he reminded himself. Devastated with the new wave of frustration, Solas looked at his still half-full bowl, his appetite leaving him.  
Ellana noticed his upset state.  
“Is something wrong, Solas?” She asked with genuine worry in her tone.  
Yes, he wanted to say, everything. It was so wrong to be so near to her and not be able to touch her. It was so wrong that he had claimed her but still had no right to have her. It was so wrong that he yearned to talk to her about the kiss, but he had no means of saying it. It was so wrong that finally he desired to tell her the truth, but he had to keep up with the lie. It was so wrong that she had been so receptive, and now she behaved as if nothing had happened.  
It was all so wrong, but telling her would be even worse. Solas had to answer her something, though, and as usual, he chose to tell her something less important than the true reason of his anguish.  
“Your people… the way they’ve used you, used your looks and not your skills. It was wrong.” Solas stated finally. He turned his head to look at her at last, and Ellana was shocked by the magnitude of the pain in his eyes.  
“I’ve never thought about it like that.” She confessed thoughtfully. “The spying, it was a game to me.” After a small pause, she continued, raising her eyebrows a little. “I would never expect you to be so overprotective.”  
Her dream-Solas would never be protective. Possessive, yes, protective, no. But sadly, he did not exist.  
“Ma emma lethallan.” Solas answered, lowering his head anew, his voice low and sad. He could not protect her, but he would do everything he could to ease her task.  
Ellana was touched by his words. “Ma emma lethallin.” She echoed him in a quiet, but passionate voice. Those were not the words she would say to the dream-Solas. ‘Ma emma lath’, she would tell him.  
The silence fell again. After a couple of moments, the real Solas got up and excused himself from her company, leaving her alone by the campfire.  
******  
Ellana spent her day not entirely resting as it was planned. The Crestwood people came to see her, and the Inquisition agents continued to send their reports. Still, she found some time to wander around the keep, trying to calm her worried mind, to erase the disturbing memories of her inflamed dream. It had felt so real, and she remembered it in the tiniest details. Never before she had dreams like that.  
The man from the dream had the appearance of Solas. But it was not him, of course. Solas, kissing like that? That was not possible. It was just her imagination, she repeated herself. But after that dream, when she looked at the elven mage, she was seeing her dream lover, and it was tiring and devastating to break her hopes several times a day.  
The sun was setting down, as Ellana Lavellan sat near her tent, assembling the arrows for her longbow. Certainly, she was well provided as the Inquisitor, but the task seemed familiar and it brought her some inner peace. No matter how hard she tried, she could not free her mind from the questions about her dream. She wished to talk to someone about it, but the chance did not show up during the day. Everyone was occupied with their own business.  
But the opportunity to talk finally emerged in the evening. Cassandra appeared from the gallery surrounding their in-castle camp place, and walked towards Ellana. She sat down beside her, her expression somewhat disappointed, and she said discomposedly: “They call me the Seeker of Truth, and I can’t even understand the truth behind the mayor’s actions.” She sighed. “I’ve heard out so many villagers today, but I still can’t make my mind about his guilt. We will need to find him, Inquisitor.”  
Ellana nodded. It was good that Cassandra was in the mood to talk. She was not always so open, but the day of rest and the Crestwood peoples' sufferings had obviously made her more inclined to listen.  
A month ago, Ellana would have not been able to imagine this situation. She did seek the Seeker’s advice and company. The days spent together in travelling, fighting in the wilds brought them closer. The women were not as different as it could seem. Furthermore, Cassandra had been leading the Inquisition before Lavellan, so they were the only ones who fully understood the charge.  
Ellana put her arrows aside, and asked, her eyes boring into the campfire that seemed to grow brighter with the sunlight dying off.  
“Can I ask you a personal question, Cassandra?”  
The woman hesitated for a very short time before answering: “Of course, Inquisitor.”  
Gratefully, the elf continued. “Did you ever have a dream, where you were with a man, and he looked as someone you know, but behaved differently?” Ellana knew that straightforwardness was the best tactic with the Seeker.  
Cassandra coughed uncomfortably. “Perhaps.” She answered evasively. When she was younger, she had had such dreams, and in her dreams the young men were always gentler and more romantic than they were in reality.  
“Do you think it can mean something? Or is it just a dream?” Ellana voiced the question that was troubling her.  
“I don’t know. The dreams, the Fade - I would not believe it.” Cassandra stated thoughtfully. “It could be a demon.” She added, a bit anxiously. “Was he tempting you, offering you things?” Cassandra watched the younger woman sympathetically. The Inquisitor had to be guarded and protected, even in her dreams.  
“He was tempting.” Ellana bit her lip. “He did not offer anything though, he only took.” She confessed, and voice resembled a whisper. A demon? No, please, let it not be a demon, she thought.  
“I’m sorry to say that I can offer little help with that, Inquisitor.” Cassandra admitted. “Why won’t you ask Solas? He’s the Fade expert.” She suggested.  
Ellana felt the heat rising in her cheeks. “No, no, I can’t ask him.” She protested hurriedly.  
Cassandra frowned, watching Lavellan quizzically. “Why- ahhh…” She gasped with sudden understanding, covering her mouth with a hand. “It is him, isn’t it?”  
Lavellan nodded ruefully. “It is foolish, I know. He’s older, wiser, he’s seen so much. He can’t be interested in me.” She accepted bitterly.  
Cassandra shook her head lightly. “Don’t be so harsh on yourself. Solas was so… caring and gentle with you while you were unconscious. I had even suspected that you were accomplices. Friends, maybe even lovers.”  
Ellana widened her eyes at the unexpected confession. “Why?”  
The woman shrugged her shoulders. “First, you are both elves. Second, he appeared just after you did, and he was so eager to see you, he had stayed with you so long. I thought you were both guilty of the explosion, but you got hurt, and he tried to get you out of my grasp.” Cassandra glanced at the elf apologetically. “He told me he could not wake you up, but I suspected that he was just covering your crime. I even threatened to execute him. As an apostate mage, Solas was completely at my will.”  
Ellana could not believe what she was hearing. The Seeker was repeating the story the dream-Solas told her, and in almost the same words. If it was happening inside her mind, how could she learn the true information then? Was it really a dream?  
Solas had to answer her questions, Ellana decided forcefully.  
“Have you seen Solas, Cassandra?” Inquisitor asked, springing to her legs in one swift movement. She wanted to be the fooled one no longer.  
The Seeker watched the elf, not grasping the sudden change. “I have seen him at the top, beside the Inquisition standard.” She replied perplexed.  
Ellana nodded quickly and stormed out to meet with the one who had toyed with her mind and tricked her.  
******  
She was walking fast, up and up the endless stairs. Her mind was raging. Her thoughts were confused. How could he? He must have known she would remember the dream. He knew it really happened. Why did he not mention it to her? Was it just a joke to him? Was he mocking her, laughing at her helpless and foolish obsession with him? Did it mean nothing to him? She would have her answers.  
Ellana finally reached the highest place in the keep. Solas was indeed there, looking down at the Crestwood remnants, his back turned to her. He dared to look sad and troubled, she thought. He, the one who used her and discarded her.  
“Solas, you owe me an explanation!” She shouted at him, and she did not care if anyone heard.  
The older elf nearly jumped at the sudden sound. He turned to look at her, and there was a frightened expression on his face, but only for a moment or two. Then he managed to collect himself and replied in the most polite and proper tone.  
“Good evening, Inquisitor.” A tiny smirk crossed his face at her annoyed look as he insinuated her own not-so-proper manners. “What do you wish that I explain?” He inquired, narrowing his eyes slightly.  
Ellana still watched him angrily. He would not fool her again with his politeness.  
“Were you meddling in my dreams?” She demanded dangerously, stepping nearer to him, cutting the way out for him.  
She was even more infuriated to see him relaxing his posture, as if the problem was already solved.  
“Just once.” He confessed with a light smile.  
“The last day at Skyhold?” She had to get it straight.  
Solas nodded gracefully. He was so calm and assured, and she still could not make herself believe it was him in her dream.  
“So it was real, wasn’t it?” She asked again. The conversation was ridiculous. He was not participating much, to tell the truth. It was not what she expected, it was not satisfying.  
Solas hesitated a second before answering her, his voice becoming gentler. “It was. I apologize. The kiss…” He sighed, but his gaze did not leave her face. “…was impulsive and ill-considered. I should not have encouraged it.” He admitted, finally sounding at least somewhat sorry.  
But it was not enough. And the way he shifted the responsibility on her shoulders!  
“Let me tell you something,” Ellana began, her temper boiling, as she was pointing her finger at him. “You encouraged _nothing_. When I kissed you, you did _not_ encourage it. But when you kissed me, _I_ did.” She glared at him, her cheeks heating up with the memories, but she was still standing her ground.  
His breathing became harder, she noticed victoriously. Carefully, evidently longing for the answer, he asked, his voice quiet and anticipating: “Do you regret it?”  
“No.” She was quick to reply, never doubting. “For unlike you, I play fair.”  
He closed his eyes briefly, as if the immense wave of emotions was flooding over him, and he was afraid to drown in it. When he opened his eyes again, they were filled with the unexpected tenderness.  
“You _are_ fair.” He whispered.  
Ellana blinked at him, not believing her ears. “Excuse me, but did you just compliment me?” Her voice tingled with bewilderment. “I fail to follow you.” She admitted.  
“I did.” He answered in a light tone, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he smiled once again.  
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Just how many faces do you have, Solas?” She could not get used to those sudden shifts in his mood and behavior. “And how many names?” She continued wearily, not even realizing where the question came from.  
Solas watched her intensely, but his voice remained light. “No more than you have,” he answered with a tiny bow of his head, “Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, Ellana of the clan Lavellan, ma lethallan.” Solas recited her titles, each one with the appropriate intonation, finishing his sentence in the most affectionate whisper.  
Her eyes widened at him. He was correct again, and he avoided the direct answer again. And she could do nothing with that.  
“At least you know all of mine,” she muttered spitefully.  
“Do I now?” Solas stepped closer to her, leaving only a couple of inches between them, but not touching her. His eyes were still locked on hers, and he turned his head down to look at her. Ellana, on the other hand, looked up hesitantly, overwhelmed by his proximity, suddenly wishing to flee, but unable to move. “I have yet to learn the name you like to be called when approached… most closely.” He whispered, and his breath was hot on her face.  
She blushed severely, but could not hide her grin. “We will have to find that out together, as I have not been… _approached_ that way.” She just had to say it, had to see his reaction.  
“Oh.” Came his incoherent reply. Her words seemed to go down to his soul, and his eyes bore into her very being, burning the path of sweet suffering to her aching heart, claiming the every inch of that path as his own. Those were the eyes from the dream, Ellana realized, as she was trembling with excitement, fear, and desire all at once. It had been really him. It _had_ happened.  
No one of them dared to cross the little space that was left between them. The air felt so thick, so tense around them, and the breathing became an exhausting task. Everywhere around was him. Solas dominated the place, filling it with his presence. He enjoyed the awed look on her face; his grin became wider, as he showed her his perfectly shaped canines. Ellana shivered at the very primal expression of his menacing smile, the feeling of his teeth on her jawline still so fresh in her memory.  
He was clawing on her skin from the inside; she was set ablaze, her body almost exploding from that hot-blooded overcharge. The Anchor was pulsating so fast, that it seemed the glowing never stopped. He was too much. She could not bear it much longer.  
Ellana was the one to yield first, the one to break the eye contact as she turned around abruptly. She did not walk away though. Once she was facing her back to him, the tightness in her chest eased down, and she let herself gasp for air.  
Behind her Solas watched her shoulders rise and fall a bit, as he heard her worked up breathing. When she escaped his gaze, he also felt the turmoil in his heart settle down. The night air surrounded him, and he was Solas again. He had lost control again. Her spirit being so bright and strong, reinforced with the old magic of the Anchor, he could so effortlessly forget that she was mortal. The shameful regret filled his heart as continued to examine her - she looked so tired, so overwhelmed, so lost. Yet, she had resisted. She had the strength to evade him, and she had borne his demanding stare quite long. Not many mortals he had met who could withstand his desire penetrating them. Much less whom he did truly desire.  
After a while Ellana seemed to gain her composure. Nevertheless, she remained as she was, not willing to meet his eyes again.  
“Can you answer at least one of my questions honestly?” She asked finally, her voice shaky and worn out.  
He could not refuse her. That girl had shown so much bravery facing him in the fullness of his might. She did not falter, and did not beg. She only asked him the truth for the truth, as an equal. Who would cherish her rebel vigor if not him? She had earned the answer. ‘Ask wisely, Inquisitor,’ he thought.  
“Ask away.” He urged her, his voice steady and determined.  
“This. Us. Are you even interested?” That was the most important thing to her at the moment.  
Solas could not suppress a small sigh escaping his lips. One part of him was soothed with her choosing such a harmless question. But the other part screamed in disappointment. He had been so close to confessing, and now he had lost the chance.  
Still, he had promised her the truth. And when he promised, which was almost never, he kept his promises.  
“I am.” He answered slowly; as if still unsure he should tell her. “I’m not certain it is a good idea, though. It could lead to trouble.” He warned her unhappily.  
She spurned around to look at him, her eyes so bright and happy, that he envied her.  
“I will risk it.” She vowed enthusiastically. “If you do.” She added hastily.  
“I will need to think about it. There are… considerations.” The promise fulfilled, he was all evasive with his replies once again.  
Ellana only smiled at him. “Take all the time you want, vhenan’lin.”  
If he had the time he wanted he would spend it with her, Solas thought grimly. But she was so sweet and tender that the tide of her uncontrolled hopefulness brushed his soul lightly.  
“Thank you.” He replied caringly. She was too kind to him.  
She laughed shortly, darting her mirthful eyes at him. “Oh, you will.” She teased him, her voice a song to his ears. “And mind you,” she measured him with a challenging look, “if your ‘trouble’ is anything like what you did today… you keep doing that, you may call me as you like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few translations:  
> Ma emma lethallan/lethallin - you are my kin  
> Vhenan'lin - heart-blood, meaning the most important thing in your life
> 
> And I have to say it one more time:  
> My dear readers, you are the best! I could not make it so far without you. Really, I'm more used to FF.net, but there I never got as much hits and feedback as here. Thank you again.
> 
> There is my Inquisitor, if anyone's wishing to see her:  
> [](http://tinypic.com?ref=34g7wjb)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ball at Halamshiral brought more troubles than one might think. The hopes and reality clashed against each other once more.

When they returned to Skyhold, it was already drowned in hasty preparations. The invitations for Orlesian Ball had arrived and Josephine was at her best to arrange everything.  
She took the Inquisitor by her arm as they left the first War Council meeting after the return and led her to her desk to explain things about the Ball.  
“I have commissioned the best tailors I could find, and madame Vivienne was most helpful,” Josephine began sitting down gracefully in her chair. She took some sheets of paper from a neat stack and continued: “I acquired a dance teacher. He is waiting for your attention, Inquisitor, and I suggest you begin your lessons as soon as possible.” Josephine finally chose the papers she was looking for and invited Lavellan to sit beside her.  
Ellana obliged, her face showing the anxiety caused by the overwhelming rush of new responsibilities.  
“There is still another matter to discuss. You are allowed a small party to take with you to court. You should choose wisely.” Josephine stated. “This is not a battle of arms that awaits you, and you must be appropriately prepared.” The Ambassador gave two pieces of paper to Lavellan. “I prepared two lists of your Inner Circle companions – the ones that you should take with you, and the ones you should not. In my opinion, of course,” she added politely.  
Ellana scanned the lists rapidly. The one with “recommended” was shorter: Cassandra, Vivienne, Varric, Iron Bull.  
“Bull?” Ellana asked in surprise.  
“I hesitated about him, but… he’s the best spy in the Inquisition besides Leliana, and his skills would be useful. Considering that Orlesians see Qunari as mindless cattle, they would loosen their guard around him too.” Josephine explained.  
“All right. Now please explain me why the others are not suitable,” Ellana inquired, putting the shorter list on the table.  
“Of course, Inquisitor. Please bear in mind, that I do not mean any offence to your companions or you, when I say it.” Josephine hurried to smile apologetically. “Blackwall will simply be of no use to you, honest and straightforward man as he is. Cole can read minds, it is true, but he too is open and sincere, and he will not understand the necessity of deceit.” The Ambassador reasoned, going through her alphabetically organized list. “Dorian is Tevinter, and believe me, he will not be welcomed in Halamshiral. Sera and Solas are elves, and, forgive me, but two elves in your party will be too much, even if we are to appease the elves of Winter Palace.”  
“I see your reasons, but you forget one thing. I’m a Dalish elf, and probably the least welcomed person of the whole Inquisition to the Orlesians.” Ellana sighed. “Dalish relations with flat-ears, as we call them, are tense to put it mildly. And so, my presence will do nothing if not less to strengthen our influence on Briala and her elves.” Inquisitor confessed and stood up, still in doubts. “You may reconsider your thoughts about Solas or Sera in my party.”  
Josephine frowned and bit her lip. She had mastered human history and social relations, but elves’ affairs were not as known to her.  
“You may be right, Inquisitor. Then… what if we present one of your elven companions as an elven servant? That will surely give Briala’s men some solid reasons to trust that person.” Josephine elaborated the thought.  
“I think I should ask Solas. Sera would never agree. And his manners are much more refined.” Ellana suggested. _‘And I want to take him with me.’_ She added in her mind. Their love was a new blossom, and she could not imagine leaving him out of her party at the moment. She was but a young girl, after all.  
“I wish your luck in persuading him, Inquisitor.” Josephine nodded appreciating. “I will think about some adjustments in his uniform to indicate his subordinate position in the meanwhile.”  
Ellana nodded lightly and was on her way.  
******  
Lavellan entered Solas’ room and found him sitting at the desk with a book and a quill, writing down some notes, copying sentences from the opened page. Her heart fluttered in her chest, as she remembered how he confessed he was interested in developing their relationship. She was glad to see him that relaxed as he appeared. Since that talk, she found him more comfortable with her and his features often softened when he looked at her during their journey back. It was only deep in his eyes that Ellana could still notice some restraint that he wore so openly before.  
She wanted to come up to him and wrap her hands around his shoulders, but she did not dare. He was very subtle in his attention to her, and that often made her feel as an intruding one.  
“Hi.” She said, her voice tingling with joy of seeing him again.  
Solas rose from his chair slowly, wiping his ink-stained hand with cloth. He smiled easily, and Ellana noted she had already forgotten how handsome he was. “Lethallan.”  
“We are invited to Halamshiral, for a ball.” She began, urged by his questioning look. “We…ah, Josephine suggested that Inquisition should address all the powerful parties – the Empress, the Grand Duke, and this elven woman, Briala.” Ellana swallowed nervously. The idea to put all blame for the elven servant idea on Josephine was nice, but she still had to voice it herself. Solas was so proud, as his name suggested, and she was not sure how he would react.  
“That is most wise.” He agreed, crossing his arms at his chest. “How can I be of assistance?”  
“Well… the idea is… we need someone to put the elves confidence in…” She hated how her voice failed her. “Can you play the role of an elven servant?” She blurted out, abandoning all effort to word it out nicely.  
His eyebrows arched a little, but aside that he remained still.  
“It is possible, yes.” He replied in an amused tone. Playing the role was not at all unfamiliar to him.  
“I would do it myself, but they know I’m the Inquisitor and the vallaslin…” Ellana hurried to apologize. “And I thought you would be more convincing than Sera if she even agreed…”  
Solas smiled again and put his right hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her.  
“It is no problem to me, lethallan. Do not burden yourself with it. A little play is always thrilling and rewarding in itself.” He assured her, grinning wickedly.  
Lavellan seemed to be convinced. “Thank you,” she said, “I was afraid I would hurt your pride with the suggestion.”  
Solas frowned at her words, and withdrew his hand slowly. “My pride can not be hurt, lethallan.” He stated turning his eyes away from her. _‘Not any further. Not by you. How can a mortal overdo my own effort at that?’_ He thought bitterly.  
Ellana noticed the change in him, and she was saddened by it. Of course, it was not an easy decision to him, to be humiliated like that in front of the court, where elves were treated as pieces of furniture at best. To him, who dreamed of ancient elves, of their power and glory.  
But he accepted what she’d asked of him. He did not hesitate. Ellana admired his readiness to aid her in her task. She should not have pressed him with her apologies.  
“Thank you, Solas.” She repeated once more, and leaned in to place a quick kiss on his cheek, pressing herself to him for one moment. Yet, his scent and the firmness of his broad chest sent her into the state of lightheadedness, and she found it difficult to part from him.  
Solas watched her attentively, caught off guard by her tenderness. She did not deserve to be blaming herself for his mistakes. Circling his arm around her waist, he whispered: “I’m here to help you, Ellana. And that is little pay for accompanying you to Halamshiral.” His lips curled up slightly. Moving his other arm to the back of her neck, Solas placed a chaste kiss on her forehead, and then released her gently.  
“I believe you have many tasks awaiting you.” He explained. “I too have to conduct a small study to play my role convincingly.”  
******  
The Ball was huge, much bigger than Inquisitor could imagine. It was like the Conclave and she found herself following trails, hunting for information, setting traps to get the blackmail material. And she was quite the hunter.  
Soon it came to the real battle, and Ellana was grateful she took Cassandra and Iron Bull with her. They finally met Briala, and Lavellan was convinced to side with her. The Empress had to die, as did the Duchess.  
The peace finally announced, Ellana found the desire to retreat to some dark corner, so tired with all the intrigue and bloodshed. She chose a nice, quiet balcony, leaning on the railing, inhaling the night air, calming her mind.  
She was surprised when Solas joined her. “How are you holding up, lethallan?” He asked quietly, taking a place at her side.  
“It’s been a long day.” She answered simply. His warmth was more than welcome.  
“It is true. For everyone, I imagine.” He agreed. Then he straightened himself up to step away and said: “Before the band stops to play, come, dance with me!” And he stretched out a hand, inviting her.  
Excited with the thought she accepted his invitation at once. And he closed his right arm around her, bringing her into a tight embrace. Waltzing with him was so easy, as he led her confidently. His upper body was still, hard as a rock, unmoving, while his legs spun around almost effortlessly. He stepped forward, his right leg between hers, and she stepped back, not even thinking about her next move, as she did with all other partners.  
She never left her gaze from his eyes, so rich in color, as they danced in silence. The time itself seemed to stop. When the music stopped, he did too, stepping away from her and bowing his head as the dancing etiquette required. Ellana did her best to curtsey gracefully.  
When she looked back at him, she was relieved to him content. He enjoyed the dance as much as she.  
“I love it when you bow,” she confessed breathlessly.  
Solas grinned at her. “I did not know you’re so drunk on power, Inquisitor.” He replied mockingly.  
Ellana laughed at the joke. Walking away to face the balcony railing again, she explained:  
“I mean, you do it with such dignity. As if saying, I bow because I chose to, not because I feel myself obliged.” She sighed. “I wish I could do the same. That would have shown them all.”  
Solas’ steps were light behinds her back, and she felt his hand resting on the small of her back as he came up to her. He kept quiet, but the gesture was still assuring.  
“I just thought… all this day… The Dalish do not bow, not to humans. And I did, a hundred times today, and I’m not ashamed.” Ellana expressed the thoughts that were troubling her. “I’m not even sure I think of myself as a Dalish anymore.” She whispered, frightened with her own admission.  
“It is inevitable.” Solas answered calmly. “Your path is now your own.” He did not expect her to realize that so soon. There was little comfort he could offer her in that, the pains and burdens of the lone path so well known to him.  
Ellana lowered her head for a while, caught in her inner struggle. Then she gazed into the night again and continued, her voice strained with pain.  
“All that we did today… it was a success. And Dalish would never succeed here. We had only one tactic to deal with humans – attack, and if the enemy is stronger, die with your weapon in hand, unyielding. And there were times I believed it to be correct.” She took a breath, her hands clutching the stone desperately. “Now I don’t. It seems so close-minded and barbaric. Is it how you see us?” She asked, the words bitter on her tongue, herself on the brink of crying, not able to face him, not turning her head.  
Solas inhaled sharply. She was indeed becoming wiser.  
“Yes.” He replied curtly, removing his hand from her to clasp his arms together. His words cut a deep wound in her soul, even if she knew the answer before he voiced it. And without the warm feel of his fingers, she was left alone in the dark and cold night, bleeding and helpless.  
“I still dream of returning to my clan,” Ellana lamented, “but those dreams are of the past and not of the future.” She felt the tears burning on her cheeks, as her pain consumed her.  
Solas did not say anything. Why was he so cold-hearted with her? She thought he cared about her.  
“Are you not going to give me some comfort?” She asked, her desperation transforming into an impotent anger.  
She’d lost her future with the Dalish, he saw it very clearly, and she wanted to have a new one, the future with him. But he could not offer her it. He would not deceive her with the false hopes. He would not deceive himself with false hopes, no matter how much he wanted it.  
“I can’t.” He said in a quiet, pained voice.  
Ellana finally spun around, her burning eyes boring holes in him. She felt betrayed, but he could do nothing to ease her anguish.  
“I should have expected it,” she spat at him and left, her entire body trembling with the single thought. She’d lost him, she’d lost everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading it! I just can't give Solas any happiness, can I?  
> No matter how much I try, it always turns out to be angsty. I blame you, egg-head.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to Skyhold from Halamshiral Lavellan learns the fate of her clan. Solas loses his dearest friend, the spirit of Wisdom. Will the grieving bring them together or drive them further apart?

Commander Cullen stared at the report in front of him. 'I regret to inform you...' Chambreterre wrote.  
She regretted. Regretted! He slammed a fist over the table. How could it happen? Inquisitor trusted him after he had solved the problem with bandits attacking her clan. What could possibly go wrong? Red lyrium, of course. He grimaced. This war was not a battle of arms alone. The enemy was cruel, unpredictable, and dishonest.  
Lavellan was away in Exalted Plains. But when she returned, she would have to see this report. He could not even imagine her reaction. He would save her reputation, the least he could do for her. He would tell her the news in private, giving her the freedom to express her feelings. He would be there for her. He had failed, but he had to stand strong.  
*******  
Solas was restless. He spent much time studying lately, and the evenings were the worst. His head was heavy with a dull ache, as he went out to the little balcony, facing the ramparts to get some fresh air.  
His scholarly devotion was not his own choice, however. Since Halamshiral, Inquisitor didn't feel inclined to invite him to her scoutings. He thought it was childish of her, but obviously he had no say in it. Well, he had no say at all, as she ignored him completely. The dismay of learning her investigating elven ruins in the Plains without him he was not even able to word out.  
Solas sighed, leaning on the cold stone railing. Some light flickering in the dark below draw his attention. A small figure with a candle was crossing the courtyard. It was Inquisitor, he realized. She had returned, that he knew, but she didn't even greet him. What was she doing out there in the night?  
It was getting darker, but he still could see her heading to the stairs and climbing up to the ramparts. Then she turned left and entered Cullen's office. Why would she visit Commander so late, and alone?  
It was silly to let the jealousy spread in him. It had to be Inquisition business. She had never mentioned Cullen in the conversation before, when they were on good terms. Still, it had been a lifetime ago, and he wasn't sure he knew her anymore. He refused her comfort, he refused her support, both of which could be easily provided by Cullen. Solas gritted his teeth. What wouldn't he give to be that honest and open!  
It was for the best, really. Or so he tried to convince himself. She deserved better than half-truths, stolen glances, looming ends. She did deserve better, but why was he ready enough to sacrifice her future for his present? He was not accustomed to this 'happy with another' concept. He couldn't let go.  
She was inside long enough now. Solas could not help wondering what she was doing there. Was she complaining, did she tell him about Halamshiral? That was three weeks ago, his inner voice reminded him, she had other things to discuss than you. Of course, she was Inquisitor; she had the world spinning around her.  
Suddenly, the door slammed open, and Ellana ran out, and then stopped abruptly, looking down the walls. Cullen followed her closely, and urged her into his embrace gently. She buried her face in his chest, being shorter than him, and he caressed her back, kissing the top of her head lightly. They stood like that for a minute, covered in moonlight, but then Cullen took her hand and invited her back inside, closing the door quietly behind them.  
The scene was disgustingly sweet. Commander was indeed so good at comforting. Solas closed his eyes, pressing his back into the castle wall. _'Please, come out of there, don't stay,'_ he prayed silently. But he waited, and waited, until the night grew completely black, and she did not come out.  
He was cold, his back ached, and his soul was devastated. He should not be so broken, he did not lose her, he had simply never had her, Solas kept telling himself, as he got back into his room, and forced himself into sleep, curled on the couch. He had let himself think he had her, and that was a foolish mistake. A dream. Yes, only a dream, since he had touched her only in the Fade.  
A dream, he repeated. If he went to dream again, and he could happily forget the truth. But when he closed his eyes and fell asleep, all that he could see was her pained face, all that he could hear was her heartbroken cry. Solas woke up in a cold sweat to the calming darkness of the midnight. Why was the Fade playing tricks on his mind? The images he saw, they couldn't be true - Lavellan crying her heart out, Lavellan dead, Lavellan standing alone on the bloody battlefield. No, she was safe, she was probably comfortably tucked into Commander's embrace, Solas reminded himself bitterly.  
He was torturing himself, and the Fade responded alike, he decided. He should not think about her, he should seek out for Wisdom. The spirit had always helped him to calm down, to see the true reasons, to see the right path. Solas drifted away into sleep again, and tried to find his friend.  
But the fate was cruel to him that night. No matter where he looked, he could not see it. He searched the usual places of their meetings; he called out in every language he could remember. Wisdom was gone. Was he going mad? The phantoms of Lavellan’s anguished face still haunted him, as he thrashed in his bed, half asleep, half awake.  
Finally, he heard Wisdom. And again, it was a tortured cry; the spirit asked for help, it pleaded him to come. Opening his eyes, Solas sit upright. His breathing was worked up, and he felt more tired than before he went to bed. The Plains. Wisdom was there. He needed to ask Lavellan to take him there. If she refused, he would go alone.  
He tried to calm down, and got up. It was already morning, and the sounds of people having breakfast in the Main Hall could be heard. Solas went out and asked for some tea, the strongest they could brew, he specified.  
He sat at his desk, alone, with the drink as bitter, as his soul. Just when he was thinking about how he would ask Inquisitor for help, she appeared in the room in person. She glanced around, as if she hoped he would not be present, and tried to step quietly on her toes. When she finally noticed him, she sighed desperately, and muttered a greeting.  
Solas examined her. Ellana looked awful – eyes red and swollen, dark circles beneath them. She had not slept, but he refused to let himself wonder what impeded her. That was the area his mind was not ready to venture into.  
“Good day.” He said dryly, as he rose to step nearer to her. “I may need a favor from you.” He moved straight to the subject.  
She looked as if she did not understand him fully. Her eyes, tired and sleepy, stared past him.  
“Of course, anything.” She answered and no emotion was present in her flat voice.  
“One of my oldest friends has been captured, forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept.” Solas explained, trying to get at least some reaction from her. She was strange. He did not like it. He even preferred her being angry.  
She nodded, but still seemed unmoved by his story.  
“Do you know where he… she is…?” She asked wearily.  
“It. My friend is a spirit of wisdom.” Solas replied. He didn’t know why he told her all that. He realized he expected some compassion from her, but found none. So that was how she felt at Halamshiral. What a broken, cold-hearted creature he was, managing to cut her sympathy short. Cole was wrong, he did quench her fire.  
“I know the place it is being held in.” He said at last, lowering his gaze, unable to meet her empty, meaningless eyes.  
“Let’s go then.” She answered simply, and left the room.  
******  
Wisdom died. The pain burned in every inch of Solas’ body, as he turned to those cruel, ignorant murderers, ready to disintegrate them with his magic. A hand on his shoulder gave him an unexpected support, pulling him from his rage, pulling him back to the reality.  
“Solas…” He heard. He turned to Lavellan, the raw emotion, the fear, the trembling, the plea coloring her intonation. He was not prepared to see those big green eyes alive with mercy and compassion, a sight he yearned for in the morning. She broke his determination and he faltered in his justice.  
“Never again.” He growled at the mages, and turned his back to them, hoping they would flee sooner than he reconsidered.  
Why? Why did she feel for them, and not for him, when he had lost his truest friend? He knew he did not deserve her sympathy, but he still could not accept it.  
“I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold.” He said in a pained voice. He was alone, he had to grieve alone.  
******  
They returned to the Inquisition camp in silence. More death, Ellana thought grimly. She could not sit idly, she could not rest, the grief and self-blame draining all her strength. Perhaps, Solas was right about having a time alone. Perhaps, she had to do the same. Perhaps, she had to mourn properly, and the spirits of her family would find their rest and leave her in peace.  
Ellana headed to the old elven cemetery. It seemed appropriate, to mourn among the graves, though her family would never get one. She walked slowly, but did not stop even for a moment. Emptiness was all that was left in her heart.  
She did not expect any company, but there he was, kneeling in the grass, head bowed deeply. His staff was carelessly thrown aside, as his hands rested on his knees. He had a friendly soul to mourn for as well. Ellana was surprised as the touch of sympathy warmed her heart a little. She hadn't realized she was still able to feel that.  
So she came up to Solas, him never hearing her light footsteps. Lavellan lowered herself to her knees beside him.  
"Atisha'hamin inalas vhen'elgaren." She offered the Dalish respectful address to the dead. "This is a good place, the spirits are calm now." She remembered how they were here last time, without Solas, when she still was mad at him. How unimportant it seemed at the moment.  
Solas acknowledged her presence by a slight ease in his posture, but remained silent. She understood she was not unwelcome.  
"Are you angry with me? For stopping you in your rage?" Ellana asked quietly.  
Solas shook his head. "No. They are nothing." His voice was cold and stiff.  
"They are not ‘nothing’. They are people." Ellana protested, though she was in no mood to argue. "And I really could not bear any more deaths." She sighed, as if she was struggling for air. "I do not know if I can bear any more at all. It seems the only death I'm willing to accept is my own." And her tone was gravely serious.  
Solas looked at her, the anxiety not hidden in his eyes. "Why do you say that?"  
He did not know, of course.  
Ellana faced him, even more pale than usual. Her eyes were dry, unable to cry, and it frightened him.  
"My family... they are... dead. Dead. Murdered. Slaughtered. Gone. Gone. Gone!" The last words she cried out, turning her face to the sky, her fists clasping the grass, tearing it from the ground, as she continued to wail in sorrow, loud and desperate as a wounded animal.  
Cold and sickening feeling filled Solas, as he realized what she had just said. He could not bear this image of her being tortured by grief. And such yelling in the middle of that unfriendly place really would not do. So he grabbed her without a second thought, bending her neck to bury her face in his fur collar. She was shaking violently, but he held her strongly, pressing her into him as tightly as he could. Her hands found their way to his chest, tugging fiercely at the cloth of his tunic, at the jaw pendant. Solas felt the cord of his amulet digging into his neck as she clung to it until it tore in one second, leaving an unexpectedly empty feeling in its usual place.  
That sobered her. Slowly she moved up to end their embrace, not matter how much she wanted to stay, as the smell of wolf pelt and of male elf gave her comfort, reminding of home she no longer had. Solas let her go immediately, sliding his hands down her sides to hold her hands gently. Ellana was still gripping the wolf bone with her both hands. She looked up at him, asking his forgiveness. But he didn't seem to be concerned with the amulet.  
Her face was red and wet, and distorted with pain. But the crisis was over, and her expression was once again one of determination and acceptance.  
"I know I still have my duties. And I will continue my path; I just don't know where to begin." Ellana admitted wearily.  
She was absolutely right, Solas thought. He rubbed her forefingers with his thumbs. His eyes were like deep wells of sorrow, and it seemed that by looking at her he tried to take her sorrows from her, because his own were so much more endless and adding some more would change nothing.  
A small smile appeared on Ellana's lips as she remembered something.  
"Do you know what Cullen told me? 'You have to carry on, Inquisitor, and I will carry you, if needed.'" She cited the words of the honorable Commander, who had blamed himself for the failure.  
That was just what Solas expected from the man. He frowned, hearing the words, the truth of Commander acting better and faster to comfort Ellana stinging like a slap.  
"It will not be needed." He replied stubbornly, tightening his grip on her hands.  
"Why?" Ellana stared at him quizzically.  
Solas' face softened. He watched their intertwined fingers, and then returned his eyes to her face, her big questioning eyes.  
"Because it is my place. Ma lathan." He replied in a quiet, caring, but also very confident tone.  
The word was elven, but unknown to her. It was alike 'Arlathan' or 'Ellathan', the name of Mythal in a prayer. It meant something very dear, very personal. The way he had pronounced it filled her heart with a feeble new hope for future.  
"What does it mean?" She asked in a hopeful whisper.  
Solas' lips curled up slightly, as he answered her with an amused glint in his eyes.  
"It means I have not forgotten the kiss."  
The kiss. As if it could be forgotten. She had relished it in her memory, returning to that moment each night before falling asleep. Maybe he did it too, Ellana mused.  
Her gaze roamed his face to see if he was just teasing, but the openness in his features stroke her down helpless. She turned her face upwards, offering him the view and, not even realizing it, herself.  
Solas was confused. He began it this time, but could he just lean forward and taste her for real? He had refused her at Halamshiral, and it turned out bad and wrong. It would be kinder in the long run, he kept telling himself. But did she, did they have it, that longer run? She was mortal, and he was not invincible either. He had already nearly ruined her trying to protect her. She needed him desperately though, and right then.  
As if to confirm his thoughts Ellana tugged on his hands, urging him to close the distance between them.  
Solas abandoned his doubts and lowered his head placing his lips on hers, kissing her gently, but passionately, with the immense care in each touch. Ellana dropped the jaw pendant to the ground, as she brought her hands up to hold onto his upper arms. It was so much more intense than in the Fade, it was real. Solas closed his eyes sinking into her embrace as his tongue entered her mouth, bringing her over the edge with the new sensations.  
Unexpectedly, he withdrew, ending the kiss. The displeased and confused frown appeared on his face.  
"Did you take lyrium?" He demanded in a disapproving tone.  
"Yes. Cullen gave it to me; it helped me to have the dreamless sleep." Ellana explained somewhat unwillingly, upset that he broke their intimacy.  
His frown deepened. "You should have told me. I can offer better solutions."  
"Well, I've told you now." Ellana replied defensively, crossing her arms.  
Solas stood up gracefully and reached out for her with a hand, getting a good grip on his staff with the other one.  
"Come, I will help you to rest while travelling in the Fade. There are better places for that than the cemetery."  
Ellana grabbed his hand and followed him, after taking his pendant from the ground, as he seemed to have forgotten about it completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am deeply grateful to all of you who read my work. You give me inspiration.  
> It is getting more intense and sad than I planned originally, but I hope it won't turn you away.  
> Some translations, as usual:  
> Atisha'hamin inalas vhen'elgaren - rest calmly in earth, spirits of the people  
> Lathan - place (object) of love (as for Ellathan for Mythal, it is used in a prayer I invented myself in my other story).


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Lavellan walk the Fade, free from their worries and duties. Even if it is only a dream, it is real. The happiness is real.

When Ellana looked around, she found herself in a beautiful marble room with a big pool in the center. It was the most wonderfully colored dream she had ever had. She examined herself, feeling a bit cold, and she found she was dressed in a thin silken gown, creamy-white and falling to her feet. There was nothing under it, Ellana realized, blushing lightly. She turned around to see Solas watching her. Did he know about her state of undress, or did he make it intentionally? She was not sure about his powers in the Fade. Even the thought of asking him that brought the red color on her cheeks and his knowing smile only proved her assumptions.  
Solas' dressing matched hers, though his bathing gown was grey and shorter, allowing her the view of his long calves. She made herself stop staring at him.  
"Where are we?" She asked, watching his calm face, and feeling that her troubles were fading away in the Fade.  
"It is an ancient bathhouse." Solas explained. "We turned out to arrive in the cold water pool room. Come, let's find the hot water pools, you're shivering."  
And they walked, hand in hand, through the finely ornate corridors and halls, the floor mosaics smooth and cool under their bare feet. Many times Ellana was sure she heard footsteps, or a muffled speech, or saw some slender figure far away, but when the elves came closer, they always found themselves alone. Those were the memories, Solas explained.  
Sometimes Ellana was unable to go further, captivated by the view. The ceiling was impossibly high and the decorations would shame Halamshiral itself.  
"So that's what Arlathan was like, utterly gorgeous." She muttered thoughtfully. "Only for the nobles, of course. You know what," she said louder, addressing her companion, "strangely, when people imagine the past, they always portray themselves as nobles, because nobles leave more history." She paused, focusing her eyes on Solas' face, as he was all attention. "I wonder, what would be my life like in Arlathan, would I be high or low?"  
Solas tried to keep himself from telling her too much. The answer was written on her face, almost literally written in blood. But he just couldn't imagine her as a slave.  
"No matter how low might you be born, you would be raised to stay amongst the mightiest." He proclaimed passionately, the admiration rising in his voice. "For your strong will and perceptive wisdom are the treasures in any time." Solas eyed her lovingly. "Vhenan." He added with a kind smile.  
His words, his confidence in her brought her more comfort than she could expect. Her heart, the one he called her after, set a new pace, heading into the anticipated future.  
A teasing smirk, the one she was madly in love with, appeared on his lips.  
"And even now, you stand among your betters, and your shine is not at all diminished." Solas said, puzzling her even more.  
Following his gaze, Ellana looked around, and studied the mosaics on the walls more thoroughly. There were so many of them in the bathhouse, she stopped noticing them some time ago. And there she stood, realizing she was now surrounded by all elven pantheon gods, watching her gravely from the walls.  
How could she not see them before? How could she be so negligent, so damnably inattentive to her gods, her Creators? It was true, they did not pay much attention to her either, but now she was in Arlathan, when the gods were still present and powerful... The shame and fear rushed through her mind, as she dropped to her knees out of her own volition, tearing her hand free from his grip.  
"Athim'ena, hella'hrenen, na'enansalas." She whispered hotly, only daring to look at Mythal at the end of the phrase, but addressing all of the Creators.  
Solas laughed heartily. "Don't be afraid, vhenan, they are not here." He offered her a hand, bringing her up to stand near to him. "It is only a memory."  
Ellana still felt ashamed, but now by her inappropriate religious display, and in front of a man who despised her gods.  
"Why do they have the gods images in a bathhouse?!" She wondered in an irritated tone.  
Solas arched an eyebrow, and replied as if explaining the obvious: "You forget that in Arlathan those gods walked among the people, and all the places like this one could be visited by one of them. Imagine them not seeing a proper dedication..." He laughed softly again.  
"I'm not comfortable here, let's go somewhere else." Ellana complained.  
"It is not my favorite company either." Solas agreed, and they continued their walking.  
Passing the main entrance hall, the one with pantheon mosaics, they entered the opposite part of the bathhouse. Hot water pools were situated there, and the air was warm, humid, and not completely transparent.  
The elves came up to one of the pools, not a deep one, and sat down on delicately carved wooden bench with so tiny legs, one could easily not notice at all. The absence of bench's legs only meant one thing - the legs of the seated person were supposed to rest in the water. So that was the way they sat down, her on his right, him on her left.  
Ellana was so comfortable she had never been before. The misty air made the luxurious room look magical, all the lights mixing into an ethereal shine that was everywhere at once. She scanned the walls, but noticed no images there - only floral ornaments covered the surface. Relaxing finally, Ellana put her weight on her hands behind her back and stared into the ceiling. And there, there was some large, magnificent mosaic, depicting some Elvhen ritual. Many elves, young men and women were dancing, casting some unknown magic around one mighty tree, covered with new leaves and white blossoms.  
"What is it there, on the ceiling?" She asked, her voice filled with admiration.  
Solas looked up, following her. "It is Adahlen'halamera. A spring rite." He told her, the elven words singing on his tongue.  
"Do tell me more!" Ellana pleaded. She couldn't take her eyes off the masterpiece, even though it was not very clearly seen.  
"All right." Her companion agreed. "Just let me make myself more comfortable." And to her surprise, Solas lay down on the bench they were sitting on, resting his head on her lap. He was now facing the discussed mosaic, and began telling her the tales of the past in his quiet, narrative tone. Soon she grew accustomed to the warm weight of his head, and the muscles in her thighs relaxed, offering him softer support.  
"Each spring, as the leaves began showing, this rite took place. Its meaning lay in waking new life. As the legend states, Elgar'nan was born to the sun and earth, so women wore black clothes to represent the earth, and men wore golden ones to represent the sun. They cast their magic, and combined together, it gave the life energy to the Tree, marking the arrival of new season. And the Tree bloomed, and it was a guardian and a keeper of all the plants." Solas paused, taking a breath. Then he looked up at the girl who was too much enthralled to say anything.  
"Do you know what was the Tree called, vhenan?" Solas asked kindly.  
Ellana glanced at him, and suddenly the answer dawned upon her. "Vhenadahl." The one she heard city elves were keeping, and here was the original.  
"Exactly." He confirmed with a smile, obviously very pleased with her answer. "They were the great trees, and they lived much longer than usual trees. Once a vhenadahl died, another one was planted, and that symbolized a grand renewal."  
Ellana felt that child's pride filling her when she knew she answered correctly. The feeling was so forgotten to her, she was simply overwhelmed with that silly happiness running through her. Until he continued talking.  
"So you see, there is a time and a place to plant trees. It can't be your answer to everything." He added, grinning wickedly, obviously referring to Dalish tree planting traditions.  
Ellana frowned, but she could not bring herself to anger, all things Dalish so far away and unimportant to her at the moment.  
"And your answer to everything is mockery." She retorted, returning her gaze to the beautiful vhenadahl.  
"I could agree with you," Solas reasoned lightly, looking at his interwoven fingers lying on his belly. Unexpectedly, she did truly see his nature. "But wouldn't that spoil your point?" He mused with a small chuckle. She could sense his grin without looking at him.  
"So much we had forgotten, but we still look the same." Ellana commented. She had never seen the images of ancient elves before. "That girl on the left, she looks just like me."  
Solas only huffed skeptically. There were not much details depicted, and the steam was clouding the view.  
"Look, her ears are just like mine!" Ellana exclaimed. "And no matter how many times you say the ear shape is not important, I believe you do prefer the pointy ones." She teased him, trailing her fingertips over one of his elegant ears.  
Solas smiled, pleased by her caring touch.  
"It is not the only pointy thing about you that I like." He replied, the mirth lighting in his eyes and coloring his voice. Gracefully, he propped himself up, leaning on his right hand that he had placed to the right of her legs. Lowering his head, Solas moved the hem of her robe aside with his other hand, only a little, only to bare her skinny knee. Then he pressed his lips to it in a slow kiss, and he seemed to enjoy it as much as if he kissed her on the lips. Ellana was shocked by his unexpected move. He had never even touched her body, he had only given her the looks before. And now, now...  
He didn't take his lips away as he moved them further up her thigh. "The softer parts of you are equally dear to me." He murmured against her skin, just before kissing her again. Ellana shivered as she felt him press his teeth into her flesh, gently grazing her.  
She inhaled the air, desperately, her mind drifting away. "Are you the one into biting, vhenan'lin?" She asked him, unable to suppress her curiosity. It was not the first time she had felt his teeth on her.  
Solas chuckled, his breath caressing her skin. Abruptly he got up to sit next to her as before, their closeness gone, and only his hip remained tightly pressed to her one.  
He grinned widely, amused with her question. "Wouldn't you like to find that out, vhenan?" He said quietly, his mocking tone trying her patience.  
"One thing I've already found out together with you. I like 'vhenan'." Ellana replied, his question bringing up the memory of their talk at Caer Bronach. She regretted that he stopped the kissing, but she liked the opportunity to talk to him.  
"Oh." He said. "Vhenan." He repeated once more, now deliberately, with the most seducing intonation she had ever heard from him. The sound was filling her like a moonlight entered the darkest corners of the forest, steadily and surely.  
"Ma vhenan. Ma lathan. Ma sa'lath." He continued in his melodic elven, never leaving his eyes from hers. He enjoyed the effect of his voice on her, as she stared at him, eyes widened, cheeks red.  
He was doing it again, that invading stare thing, Ellana thought. Like in the Fade, like on her balcony, like in the Crestwood. She managed to regain some self-control, setting her eyes on his lips, as he spoke, evading his piercing gaze. Even if she loved it when he spoke elven, but she really missed the way he was moments ago - passionate, and loving, and teasing, and normal. She wanted the man, not that powerful creature that could bend her will with a look.  
It was simple - break the eye contact, break the spell, improvise. With a clever thought flashing through her mind, Ellana jumped down into the water, tugging him after by his hand. The pool was only waist-deep, but the splashes were enough to wet their faces and upper bodies. She laughed heartily at his expression - a perfect mix of confusion, fury, and admiration.  
Her laughter echoing across the room, the elven girl hit the water with her both hands to let it splash all over him. As she heard him groan in impatience, and muttering some elven curse unknown to her, Ellana decided to run away, as the thought of him chasing her was strangely so attractive and arousing.  
Solas was shocked, to say the least. She had been completely at his will, a moment ago, but she escaped, and that damned water... The sight of her turning her back to him to evade the rage that she deserved inflamed his veins. The chase, the hunt, how long ago he had felt that sweet need to reach, to catch, to pursue.  
In a couple of his long strides his was on her, as she turned around, reaching the pool's wall. Solas crushed into her, intending to never let her escape again. His hands grabbed her arms, pressing them to her sides.  
He finally smiled, and that smile sent shivers down her spine. Yet his eyes glittered with amusement, and she felt reassured.  
"Nowhere to run?" He whispered and his lips were hot on her ear. "Ma asha'harel." He accused her passionately, and placed a hard kiss just below her ear.  
Ellana struggled for air, her chest slammed between him and the wall.  
"Ma vhen'harel." She retorted defiantly, raising her head. Solas released her slightly, and straightened his back to look at her, taken aback with her words. Almost correct. Oh, how close she was, oh, how close he was.  
He leaned in, nuzzling her neck again, and whispered against his better judgment.  
"Emma tel'vhen, emma fen."  
"Ma fen'harel." She corrected herself absent-mindedly.  
The pride and victory roared in his mind and his heart. He drank in the marvelous sight before him - the most beautiful woman caught in his embrace, his true name on her lips. But, she hadn't yet realized it. He just couldn't let that be.  
"Is it a blasphemy that I hear?" He purred, almost innocently.  
Ellana gasped. "And to choose the one god that can actually hear me..." She whispered. The one she was told to fear since her childhood.  
_'Oh, he heard you, vhenan, don't you doubt.'_ Solas thought wickedly. Her worshipping the pantheon was surely the best subject to make fun of, that much he had learned.  
"So what do you think he would do to you if he heard you?" Solas asked, smooth as hell.  
He let his hands roam over her body, his touch and wet silk mixing into the maddening caressing sensations. It made it difficult to answer him, but she forced her mind to think.  
Ellana narrowed her eyes. He was teasing her again, like with those mosaics of the pantheon. Surely, the Dread Wolf couldn't hear her. She was only dreaming, after all.  
She would not entertain him with her weakness again.  
"Actually," she began, her voice so clear and confident that Solas' hands stopped at her waist, and he looked at her enlightened face. "I think, he would be utterly amused hearing me saying his name in such... situation." She stated and set a daring stare on his face.  
And he was. Amused, and stricken, and speechless. She was mocking him back, she was not afraid. That was what he loved about her. That defiant look on her face was his undoing.  
He pressed into her anew.  
"If you're so smart," he growled, burying his face in her shoulder, "why won't you indulge him once more?"  
And with his last words he moved the floating cloth of their robes away, reaching down with one hand to urge her legs apart, and all at once she felt his burning flesh against her needing one.  
She was going insane with desperate want of him.  
"Fen'harel take me!" She exhaled impatiently.  
And he did.  
******  
When Ellana opened her eyes, she found herself lying on the grass in the ruins. Solas was already up, as he walked around, setting his wards off.  
"How was your dream?" He asked lightly as he noticed her moving and getting up.  
"Wet, if know what I mean." She muttered, her cheeks turning pink.  
Solas laughed, as he offered her a hand. "Come, we can still make it to the camp before sunset."  
And they left the ruins to walk their way to the Inquisition camp.  
"When you said you'd help me to relax, I couldn't imagine that. I thought your way of relaxation would be more like reading a book." Ellana told him as they measured the Plains with their steps.  
"I will keep that in mind. Next time I will offer you one." Solas replied politely, smirking at her.  
"What? No! You give me a book, I crush it over your egg-head!" She protested jokingly.  
Solas stopped and watched her, arching an eyebrow.  
"Egg-head? And here I thought my haircut was giving me a humbled look." He feigned a wounded expression.  
"Humbled? Ha! Nothing is humble about you!" She argued hotly.  
Solas smiled at her spiteful behavior. The unwelcome sadness crawled its way into his eyes as he watched her lovingly.  
Ellana noticed that look. It resembled a parent smiling at the child at play, knowing it would be over so soon.  
"What is wrong, vhenan'lin?" She wondered sympathetically.  
Solas sighed. "Ar lath ma." To him, that was the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like this, two chapters in a row. I'm not sure how M it is, but I've changed the rating anyway.  
> I did it! I gave them happiness! Such a nice feeling.  
> Translations:  
> Athim'ena, hella'hrenen, na'enansalas - humble I appear, noble lords, grant me your favor  
> Adahlen'halamera - the end of trees' sleep  
> Ma asha'harel - my tricking woman  
> Ma vhen'harel - my tricking man (here I take the liberty of 'vhen' also meaning one man, one of the People)  
> Emma tel'vhen, emma fen - I'm not a man, I'm a wolf


End file.
